


The Beasts of Gautier Castle

by spidey



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Howl's Moving Castle, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, this is cheesy and Love Is the Answer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:34:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 41,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21609877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spidey/pseuds/spidey
Summary: Is it a blessing or a curse, the power of love?
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 27
Kudos: 64





	1. The Myth

**Author's Note:**

> sup I've never written a fic before, I hope y'all like it!  
> English is not my native so if there's something that doesn't make sense, comment or dm me! thank u  
> edit: removed some characters from the tags to focus on the more main ones!

-”Have you heard? The castle of Gautier has been seen!” someone shouts between the jabs at the melted iron, voices and gasps mingling together and drowning in the heat.

-”We need to watch out-- or else he will have our hearts!”

-”Oh, silly! He only goes for _beautiful_ people!” another one laughs while her friend gasp in faked dismay.

Dimitri stopped listening- he was hardly in danger then. He is a scarred beast if anything, and haunted by a downright _monstrous_ strength. Instead for the continued chatter of their patrons, as well as one employee, his focus returned to the lance-head he’d been commissioned- or rather been asked to make by the owner of this humble ironwork. Another forged steel lance, no doubt for one of the wealthier knights. War is coming, and his mind echoes an “again” despite not having lived to see any other war than the one that _might_ be upon them. If only Archbishop Rhea could see reason--

-”Dimitri!” a shrill voice yells and his grip tightens too fast-- and now there’s a dent in the steel, _again_.

-”Yes, Annette?” he turns after putting down both hammer and lance, not daring the risk of accidentally swinging it too close, drawing innocent blood, dripping down--

An uncomfortable sensation grows in his mouth.

-”It’s getting late, you ought to get at least some sleep!” Mercedes chimes in and hands him a small basket, “Remember to please eat something, you’re getting skinny. ” there’s a motherly tone that almost sends him bursting into tears, without phantoming why.

-”Of course.” he smiles tenderly still, lips tightly pressed shut.

With that, they make their leave for the night, stopping by the doorway to tell him goodnight before leaving with the setting sun. Dimitri finds himself sitting down on his stool again, munching on the fresh bread they brought this time. His sense of taste is hardly functional at this point, it’s only been regressing as of late. Nights have been mercilessly cut shorter too, nightmares of death, blood, and massacres for many moons now. There are faces, faces he _knows_ yet cannot recall, names biting on the tip of his tongue. They call out to him, for vengeance, for blood, no matter whose, blood blood blood---

_Blood_ , ah, he’s bleeding. Dimitri fumbles with a tissue to wipe off the blood from his hand, only now realizing he bit his tongue, blood dripping down his chin, only adding to the iron scent of the building.

-”I truly ought to get some sleep, huh.” Dimitri sighs and kills the fires before heading out, taking a look at the darkening sky as he steps out. He lives just one stair up, courtesy of the owner, Jeralt Eisner. He lives with his son, Byleth, just a stonecast away. 

They used to be mercenaries, but after sir Jeralt suffered a fatal injury the two decided to remain in Remire village. This once small village has within the last years blossomed into a small town. Byleth’s twin sister, Beleth, still travels around as a mercenary, returning here every few moons. Those two... are a tad difficult to deal with, at first. They are they very opposite of the saying “carrying your heart on your sleeve” -- those two were at times so devoid of emotion that one could believe they were heartless. Though that couldn’t be further from the truth, Byleth and Beleth both care deeply and truly, they simply do not show it as easily as others. Byleth once said that making expressions always felt unnatural to him, like twisting his entire face merely to smile. Regardless, Dimitri feels nothing short of blessed to have met them, and to be shown such unconditional kindness despite not being able to repay them. They are an odd trio, the Eisners, but so incredibly kind.

Dimitri cannot recall his own kin, if he ever had any at all, any memory of his time before arriving here completely dark. Gone, like pages mercilessly torn out of a book.

All he had was sheath to a dagger, with his name engraved.

-”Perhaps I should pay Dedue a visit soon?” he hums into the night air, picking up the heavy sign outside the shop with ease before carrying it back inside. Dedue found him unconscious drifting down a nearby river, completely covered in wounds and blood. If it was his own or another’s-- he never knew. Whatever it was that caused him to fall into the water in the first place is most likely what mangled his body so badly and took his right eye. The scars has healed nicely now- much thanks to Dedue’s gentle care and Mercedes healing, and while he may not be able to see anything with it now, it truly doesn’t affect his daily life all that much.

-”My, what a sad little shop.” an unfamiliar voice speaks. Dimitri turn to the sound, and is greeted by a woman dressed in a sangria red dress, feather boa hanging off her shoulders, revealing a choker-type of necklace adorned with gold and blue gems. She pushes pale hair off her shoulder with an elegant gesture while eyeing him down.

-”Uh,” was she lost? Dimitri wasn’t sure but didn’t want to be rude, “We just closed.”

She tilts her head to the side, a smug grin slowly growing on her face, revealing wrinkles he did not see before.

-”You truly don’t know who I am, do you?”

-”Oh- Pardon me, have we met?” hopes grows in his chest, despite his suspicion, “I have lost my memories- could you tell me who I am?” or rather, he thinks, who he _was_.

-”Oh, I will tell you...” she snickers, a sudden darkness swirling around her hand, “You are _cursed_.” the darkness swirls around his neck like a snare, forcing all breath out of him as he staggers back into the door, struggling to break free.

-”Each time your heart darkens, each time your mind is overcome with evil... you will turn into a beast, a beast that will kill everything in its way.” she sneers and grabs his jaw, staring into his remaining eye- before briskly letting go and disappearing into the night.

Dimitri breathes heavily into the night, the chill air clawing at his lungs.

Staggering back inside and locking the door, twice, to be sure, he heaves himself off to the bathroom. There’s dark lines etched into his neck, malicious bruises painting his pale skin.

One part of him begs of it not to scar-- he has enough-- enough!

And as all his adrenaline falls and his breath falters with the terror-- so does the rest of him.

-”Oi, kid, are you alright?” a familiar, warm, but scruffy voice asks, gently shaking his shoulder. “By the Goddess, you fainted, didn’t you?” he sighs, yet remains far more concerned than anything.

-”I’m so sorry!” Dimitri rises up too fast and ends up swaying where he stands, Jeralt taking hold of him to make sure he didn’t fall.

-”It’s alright. You’re overworked, take today off. Breakfast is ready in the kitchen, go get something and then march off to bed.” Jeralt shakes his head but Dimitri can’t help but slip a sigh of defeat-- seems his nightmares got the best of him yet again.

-”When you’re feeling better, I have a favor to ask.”

It’s just past noon by the time Dimitri finally awakens again, returning to the ironwork to find sir Jeralt sitting with Byleth, seemingly discussing another commission.

-”Oh,” Jeralt looks up when he spots him in the corner of his eye, “You’re back up.”

-”Did you rest well?” Byleth asks, a hint of concern evident in his voice.

-”I did, thank you.”

-”Good, good.” Jeralt smiles and collects his papers, “Grab some lunch and I’ll tell you about the favor I mentioned.” he pats Byleth’s back and sends him off to eat as well, taking over the store for the time being. People come and go all day, and despite there being many ironworkers and such across Remire nowadays, most seem to be drawn to this particular one. Nearly half of sir Jeralt’s old mercenary band stayed in Remire to help- the rest with along with Beleth.

-”Dad told me you fainted?” Byleth asks- and Dimitri only knows it’s a question from his tone alone, a learned skill at this point.

-”I-- Yes. I did.” he sighs, “Appears I had another nightmare. They’ve come altmore frequent as of late...” he admits, shame clinging to his shoulders.

-”I see.” is all Byleth replies, then begins rummaging through his pockets until he eventually takes out a small bag and hands it over to Dimitri. “Calming herbs. Smell them whenever you begin to feel uneasy and they’ll help.” he gives a small smile, and Dimitri gladly takes them.

-”You have my deepest gratitude.” he places the tiny sachet into his inner pocket, close to his heart.

Odd asit was, at times Byleth would reach and rummage through his pockets and gift him _exactly_ what he needed-- and sometimes items he lost, as well as some occasional white feather. Dimitri wasn’t certain as to why, but found himself rather fond of those feathers too.

Eating is more of a chore than anything pleasurable, seeing as his last sense of taste seems to have abandoned him now. Dishes he once loved tasted nothing, the mere texture of some meals now downright disgusting. Even so, his love for cheese remained. Dimitri almost wanted to laugh-- how _cheesy_ wasn’t that?

Ignoring his tasteless meal, Dimitri allowed his gaze to wonder over to Byleth. Jeralt has mentioned on many occasions that he raised them both himself, and while the mercenary life was anything but ideal for children like them, they still managed. Sir Jeralt rarely spoke of his late wife, and Dimitri finds himself wondering what happened to her. From the lone portrait he kept of her, from the time she still carried her twins within her, she seemed at very good health. Of course that is difficult to tell from a portrait alone, even so, he wondered if perhaps her health declined more and more until birth?

From what he recalls, she was a nun at the Garreg Mach Monastery, the largest church in all of Fódlan. It’s not terribly far from here, and Alois has numerous times tried to get Jeralt to tag along, to which he has promptly refused. Sir Jeralt never spoke of his time there, but Aois sure did, telling all kinds of grand tales of the former captain’s heroics as a knight. What it was that made him leave all that behind, to rather live life as a traveling mercenary, Dimitri can all but wonder.

-”Have you finished?” Byleth asks, and Dimitri nods while Byleth takes his plate off the table to the sink. Dimitri has never been good with... fragile things. It was a wonder they hadn’t replaced his plate with forged metal.

Letting the mystery of sir Jeralt and his wife be, they both head back.

Once Jeralt spotted them returning, he waved him over while putting away his tools.

-”Here, return this to Alois before he leaves town. I swear, that man keeps leaving things here on _purpose_.” Jeralt sighs but hands Dimitri the worn book nonetheless.

-”Couldn’t it be that he merely wants to see you more? You do work way more than your fair share, sir.”

-”Ah, I’ll rust if I just sit and watch.” he laughs and shoos Dimitri towards the door, “Tell him that if he wants to see us, he has to come here. I won’t say no to a free dinner.” and with that, he sets Dimitri off to town.

Alois, like most knights on their days off, spent their time near the town plaza, chatting, eating and drinking the days away until their next mission.

It doesn’t go unnoticed that the impending threat of war has worn down their spirits greatly-- but that was nothing a small festival couldn’t change. The heat of summer is treating him kindly, just this once, as the Midsummer festival begins once again. Frankly, it’s more of a flower-filled dance party than anything. Rows and rows of colorful bouquets, and flowerful crowns on nearly every head, and fragrances he couldn’t dream to name. People dance and sing all over the place, sharing their blessings and wishes for a bountiful year and peaceful winter to come.

-”It’s too crowded...” Dimitri mumbles for himself, not in the mood of pushing himself through this flood of people in front of him, completely blocking off the main road along with any easy way there. He eyes the alley next to him, blissfully empty, and takes a chance.

Perhaps the Goddess truly hates him?

-”And where are you going?” a guard, broad and clearly intoxicated, stands in his way.

-”To the plaza.” Dimitri answers and clearly as he can, uneasiness growing rapidly through his chest.

-”All alone?” another one coos, and comes just a bit too close, “Do allow us to escort you.”

-”I- I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

-”Aw, don’t be like that!” he sligns an arm around his shoulder and Dimitri has to stop himself from flinching at the unwelcomed touch.

-”Hey now, he clearly doesn’t want anything to do with either of you.” a third voice chimes in, and Dimitri downright _begs_ to the Goddess to have some mercy on him.

-”This has nothing to do with you.” the first guard scoffs, and eyes the ginger man down.

-”True. But you have duties and I don’t.” he chuckles and waves his hand back and forth, the two guards suddenly straightening up and briskly walking away, leaving Dimitri completely dumbfounded.

Dimitri looks back at the man who, he _hopes_ , helped him. About two inches taller, red hair lined with gray streaks, a warm smile- that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

-”To the plaza, was it?” he bows, red jacket draped low off his shoulder, revealing more of his already exposed chest, “I’ll escort you there.”

-”I’m fine on my own.” he sighs, back to square one it seems.

-”Hang onto me, I’m being followed.” he doesn’t explain any further, gently taking Dimitri by his arm and moving them both forward. Dimitri only managed a quick glance over his shoulder, and men- creatures plucked from nightmares follow.

-”What are those?” Dimitri asks, walking faster and faster, this man doing the same.

-”Shadows. Dunno who sent them this time.” he winks, “Sorry to drag you into my mess my fair prince, I’ll escort you to safety.”

-”I’m not a prince?” Dimitri questions-- and he’s hardly _fair_ when it comes to his face, scarred and plain- but he doesn’t get to argue further as he’s suddenly hoisted into the air.

-”Oh sweet Sothis.”

-”Don’t worry, just stretch your legs and walk.” he laughs and beings to walk on thin air, Dimitri doing the same despite much rather falling flat down, back to solid ground.

-”See? You’re a natural!” he flashes the most wonderful smile he has ever seen.

-”T-thank you.” Dimitri finds himself breathless, wondering who in the world this man is.

Soon enough they land on a tavern’s balcony, just next to the knight’s usual place.

-”Take care now, and don’t let any shadows follow you, your highness.”

-”I will, thank you.” he rests his hand in his just a little longer, the man holding his hand so tenderly, with a smile so genuinely breathtaking that Dimitri wasn’t sure what to do.

-”I shall be on my way.” he smiles a final time and lets go, before jumping down into the crowd. Dimitri leans over the railing, but fails to see him anywhere.

Alois is in the crowd though, laughing away with his comrades, so Dimitri hurries down.

-”You have my thanks boy!” Alois laughs and stuffs the poor book into his pocket, “Seems I couldn’t get the old man to _book_ it out here!"

-”Heh, sir Jeralt suspects you’re doing this on purpose.” Dimitri only barely managed to hold back his laughter, “He told me to say that if you want to see him, then you simply have to visit. Oh, and that he won’t say no to a free dinner.”

-”Ahaha, that’s the captain for you!” Alois laughs again, despite the many times Jeralt has told him to drop the title, he keeps it, perhaps more of a memoir of a time long ago than anything. “Thank you for coming all this way to return my book, Dimitri. Enjoy the festival.” Alois pats his back before returning to his previous endeavors.

However, this day had been far too much already, and a festival on top of it was not in his plans, thus Dimitri makes his quick escape back to the ironwork, his mind racing along his legs, wondering who that man that saved him today truly was. Ah, he never asked for his name, neither did he give him his, how improper of him. ‘ _Will I see him again?_ ’ he wonders, and vows to properly introduce himself if given the chance, and to give his thanks. He can’t claim to be friends with everyone, but he knows most faces here in Remire, and his stranger was not one of them.

-”Could he be...?” Dimitri wonders and slows in his tracks- could _he_ be the mage of the Gautier castle? ‘ _No_ .’ he thinks for himself, now striding back in full force, ‘ _I still have my heart._ ’ he reasons, recalling the many times he praised his beauty, perhaps with empty flatter, he still did. One must wonder if he truly does eat people's hearts, the mage, and sometimes named _the beast_ , of Gautier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this au Sylvain was cursed, and wished for great power in exchange for his heart and youth, while Dimitri was cursed to become a beast.


	2. The Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As night turns to dawn, one must steel their heart

-”The Gautier’s?” Jeralt asks as he puts the newly made sword down in water, the metal sizzles with anger as he does, “They were all redheads, but that’s all I know. We never ventured far enough into the Kingdom to see them. Most mercenaries stopped after the massacre six years ago.”

-”Massacre?” a chill runs down his back, perhaps through his very soul.

-”Yeah. I don’t know the details, but it’s said to have started as an attack on the royal family. The young prince and princess were lost that day, though their bodies were never found. Considering how brutal rumors claimed it to be, perhaps that was for the best. The prince’s your namesake, ain’t he?”

-”I suppose so?” Dimitri wasn’t all too sure, seeing as all he had for a name was an old engraving on a daggerless sheath. It could even be that it never belonged to him either.

-”Anyway, the King and Queen survived, but lost their kids. I can’t imagine how that must be...”

-”What was the princesses’ name?” he hates to interrupt-- but there was something at the tip of his tongue, wanting it heard, to be confirmed.

-”I believe it was Edelgard. The young prince and princess were only step-siblings, but were raised together for the most part. The Queen- Patricia? She was originally from the Adrestian Empire- that’s where we are, but married into the royal family of the Kingdom of Faerghus. How good is your geography?”

-”Um, not very I am afraid.” Dimitri admits, a little bashful, but could more truly be expected from someone with amnesia?

-”Don’t worry about it, you only really need to know if you’re traveling or into politics. We have three ruling countries, first is the Adrestian Empire, next is the Kingdom of Faerghus, and then the Leicester Alliance. All three used to be under the rule of the Empire many centuries ago, but split up after a few rebellions and civil wars. There’s some smaller countries outside their border, but more about that later. Then we have the Cult of Seiros in the middle of it all, having their main quarters at the Garreg Mach Monastery.”

-”Isn’t it the _C_ _hurch_ of Seiros?” Dimitri chuckles. Sir Jeralt’s distrust for the blindly devoted seems to have slipped into his little lesson.

-”Same thing.” he snorts, “Where was I going with this again?” he scratches the back of his head, fiddling with the braid, “Right, the royal family. If Edelgard was to inherit the Adrestian throne or not was never clear. Seems like the Empire is on its last legs with the current Emperor.”

-”Did the Emperor not have any other children?”

-”He did, but all ten of them died under mysterious circumstances.” he shrugs, “There was an outcry a few years ago about it.”

-”You do know a lot for someone who claims not to.”

-”Eh, that’s daily gossip for a mercenary. How much truth it holds ain’t up for me to decide.” Jeralt leans back in his seat with a chuckle. “I’ve learnt the hard way that it’s best not to get too involved in royal affairs. Now that I think about it, it seems like all the royal heirs have disappeared...” he taps his chin, staring off into space.

Before Dimitri has the chance to ask what that meant nor look into the disappearances, or divert the conversation back to the Gautiers, something soft lands on top of his head.

-”Happy Midsummer festival!” Mercedes laughs, basket full of flowers and finished crowns, Annette strolling around with her own proudly, yellow, blue and some orange too.

-”Here, we made one for you and Byleth too!” Annette sings and bestows Jeralt with one colorful crown as well, flowers made of vibrant red and orange, along stunning blues. As on cue, most likely due to hearing his name, Byleth enters the workshop as well. He doesn’t get much of a chance to ask what’s going on before an equally colorful flower crown is placed on top of his head, made of red, blue, and golden carnations.

-”Happy~ mid~summer festival!” Annette sings some more, dancing around and dragging him along, and Byleth gladly complies. Neither he nor his sister may look like it, but they are quite the skilled dancers.

-”Happy midsummer festival to you too, Annette. Thank you for the flowers.” he bows and she does the same, both laughing.

-”You two should go out and actually enjoy the damn thing.” Jeralt laughs and gets up from his seat, staggering a bit, much due to the old wound that nearly killed him. It might have healed, but he was never the same. “Day’s been slow, might as well close.”

Byleth nods and tags along Annette and Mercedes as they head back out, having more crowns to deliver and festival snacks to eat. Dimitri faithfully stays behind, helping to round things up as they close for the day. There’s still many hours left of sunlight, but he feels altmore drained as time passes. Of course Jeralt takes notice of such right away, and assures him it’s okay to stay indoors and rest if he’d like. Festivals and crowds ain’t for everyone. With that, he heads out himself, leaving Dimitri blissfully alone.

However drained he may be, a certain restlessness had made home in his very bones. Going back out is a big no, considering only trouble seem to follow him today, thus Dimitri turns his restlessness into something more useful- and for him, a little therapeutic.

Dimitri smiles for himself as he sweeps the floors, recalling the many times Jeralt has shaken his head with a laugh, calling him insane for actually _liking_ to clean. The bigger the mess and the longer it took, the better! As long as it didn’t involve anything too fragile, he was all for it. Working in an ironwork, mostly cleaning away metal scraps and dirt, was all the distraction he needed to get away from the lingering uneasiness of his far too frequent nightmares.

-”None of that.” Dimitri huffs for himself, doing his best to think of anything else but his nightly terrors. Needless to say, he wasn’t terribly good at it. Keeping nasty thoughts and remains of his nights always proved to be more difficult than anticipated. Moving on, moving on-- sometimes the stables just around the corner requested their help, Byleth has always been good with animals, while Dimitri mostly was there for his strength. He loved tending to the horses, and they in turn tolerated him enough to let him brush through their manes and fix their hooves from time to time.

Many of the cats and dogs around town tend to flock to him and Byleth both, most likely due to Byleth feeding them whenever he had something on him- which was, in fact, most of the time. While the dogs seemed to prefer Byeth more, the cats in particular seems to like Dimitri, especially during winter. The winters here in Remire aren’t so bad, the chill and excitement for the first snow somehow more familiar to him than endless green fields and forests. Of course he appreciated the beauty and bounty of this greenery, most folks around these parts somewhat self-sufficient much thanks to the rich soil and kind seasons.

Jeralt often said that while it may be important to give your thanks to the Goddess, one must also remember to tend to the soil, and show their gratitude to nature as well. Nothing will grow from devotion alone, he’d say, and offer no more insight in what he meant. How could a former captain of the knight’s of Seiros hold such a grudge towards the belief? Or was it the Church itself, rather than the devoted? Dimitri can only wonder, already aware sir Jeralt would offer no answers to any of his questions regarding the matter. Byleth doesn’t know either, raised far away from the church’s influence and belief. Dimitri wasn’t sure if he could call himself a believer, at the very least not a especially devoted one. While the belief of the Church of Serios is rather steadfast in their devotion to the Goddess, Sothis, there was a few things he simply couldn’t agree with. The Church is known to execute those they deem too grave of a sinner to live, and that... didn’t sit well with him. Surely the Goddess would aim for forgiveness first? Then again, how many times can one forgive until something cannot be forgiven?

_Blasphemy_ , many of them would surely shout at his dispute. Thankfully Remire isn’t that stern on the belief, as most places in the Empire are. Dimitri guess he should be thankful to be in a place where he is allowed to question these things without the Church calling for his head. He shivers at that, hand landing on his throat. An image of a living, shining axe with red eyes glaring him down all too clear in his mind for a moment too long. A flood of crimson steers his mind down a dark path.

As he comes to once again, he’s sitting on the cold stone floor, broom in half.

-”Not again...” Dimitri curses, debating whether he should start wearing gauntlets to stop breaking things. “Damn it all.” he takes a few deep breaths before dragging himself back up, putting the broom aside to fix in the morning. This day has been turbulent enough, he might as well try to get some decent sleep in before things turns even worse. These floors won’t sweep themselves but neither are they going anywhere. Sir Jeralt wasn’t one to clean too often anyway, much to his own and Byleth’s annoyance. Both of them preferred to keep things tidy.

Eventually Dimitri falls asleep to wandering thoughts of his mystery savior, and children’s laughter just outside, summer breezes playing with the sparkling windchimes.

The glass shatters in his sleep.

A rain of arrows pierces through his back and being,

forcing his mangled body to the ground.

Axes, swords and spears hacks away, tearing flesh apart,

spilling blood onto soaked grounds.

Desperate cries of his name, between shouted orders of retreat,

and vengeance turning him into a maddened beast.

Dimitri awakens in a cold sweat and a cry at the tip of his lips.

There are many hours before sunrise, but he falls out of bed, clumsy with sleep, dragging himself to the bathroom, to see, to see-- if he was still real.

Yet the view that greets him is anything but himself.

Golden fur lines the edges of his face, fangs biting uncomfortably into his swollen lips, drawing blood, a tail--- a damn _tail_ twitching along his legs. Nightclothes- once too large, now sits snugly, nails turned into claws.

Surely, the Goddess must hate him.

-”The _witch_.” he growls, the sound startling himself- the sudden realization hitting too hard, that his nightmare just a few nights ago turned out to be very real, along with the curse she placed him under.

A sudden overwhelming fear of fulfilling the curse ignites a dread so deep within his heart that tears rolls down his fuzzy face, mixing with the blood still dripping down his chin.

‘ _I have to leave-- I must go. I cannot stay. Not here---_ ’ his mind scrambles, grabbing hold of some of Jeralt’s clothing in a blind flurry, moving through the small house and falling half over himself before he reaches the backdoor, where he finally halts to a complete stop. Determination mixing in with instant regret-- how could he leave so easily? Leave all this-- leave everything they have given him, in return for absolutely _nothing_ , just up and leave, like a remnant of a haunted ghost.

Yet when fangs digs into his lips once more-- determination settles. He cannot risk to harm them. He cannot allow his curse to befall them, too. So he quickly changes into clothing that isn’t his-- ‘ _Please forgive me for this._ ’ his mind races, pulling the shirt over his head and buckling up the pants.

His gaze lands on a small, familiar basket, a note with his name attached in familiar writing.

_We heard you felt ill, please eat this when you wake up. - Mercie, Annette._

Their kindness resonates through his heart, and he dearly wishes he could at least have bid them a proper farewell before leaving, but fate was rarely kind to him.

Dimitri drapes on a deep blue shawl, that _does_ belong to him, as the morning chill hits him, cold breeze rustling the green leaves.

He cannot stay-- yet where can he go, in such a state? This simply cannot be a full transformation, his looks more of a hybrid than the beast the curse is surely still turning him into.

His mind sways momentarily, to the moment sir Jeralt opened his home and shop for him, to the many times and days Annette and Mercedes came bursting into the shop, with food and flowers and joyful songs to lure away the darkness biting at his heart. To the hours spent trying to find clues of emotion on the twin’s faces, heart bursting with joy the moments he did, finding their own unique equivalents of smiles across the lips. He thinks of Dedue-- the first friend he made in a place completely unknown to him, the kind man who saved him from the waters and mended both his body and soul.

He can’t--- he can’t stay here, where they are, and may the heavens fall upon his head before any harm befalls them. He must go-- to the mountains-- to the mountains, yes, another one, another witch, lives there. Rumors say, they help lost souls, lifting curses and hexes alike, as if nothing.

With that, he is out of the door, tail sweeping at his feet.

Dimitri only turns to look behind him once, as he stands halfway up the mountain hill, to watch over the sun washing over Remire, greeting the folk with her warmth. Tears lingers across the edges of his tired eyes, and he cannot bother to wipe them away, hands now completely adorned with fur save for a few splotches across his palms. How much his face has changed he didn’t quite want to think of yet, it wasn’t like he has been clever enough to bring a mirror when he ran out this morning either. All he did take was a change of clothes and the basket Annette and Mercedes left him. Nothing more.

No, that’s not entirely true. Dimitri looks down, held tightly and carefully in his hand. He can’t say he realized ever picking it up, but here it was, his daggerless sheath, the only thing he held when he drifted along the river all those years ago. Perhaps it was fate that it once again was the only thing he carried with him.

-”I swear,” his voice is a low rumble, darker than it should be, “I will return.” _wait for me_ , his mind pleads, as he turns once more to seek for a cure, a way to break this damned curse.

The road up the mountain’s gravely path is quiet, free of voices demanding heaps of corpses and vengeance, all there is out here is the breeze splaying across untamed hills, chirps and grunts of the many animals living here. Being out here...it’s nice. It’s a nice change of pace, Dimitri decides, but continues to stride on.

There’s not enough hours left of the day to stay idle, and he wasn’t sure how long it would take him to find the witch rumored to live out here either. It doesn’t fill him with as much shame now, but he only knows of this due to eavesdropping when he was out getting supplies with Byleth one day. It is said that she grew tremendous power from prolonged torture that changed they very essence of her being. He... didn’t find that all too hard to believe. There’s been many cases of torture, as well as assassinations for the powerful blood some bear. Most noble houses values such powerful blood above anything, even going as far as disowning their own children for not bearing such blood. The Church is very much the same in that regard, and while they do not discriminate or turn away those without it, it is clear those who does possess such powers are placed in far more favorable position than those who do not. It’s mostly a matter of skill when it truly comes down to it-- not even the most powerful of blood nor magic can save you from your own foolishness.

Dimitri can only laugh at himself- was it not his own foolishness that drove him out here? All alone, with no concrete plan whatsoever?

Though he pushes that thought aside as a rhythmic tapping is heard behind him, rapidly coming closer.

Dimitri swivels around, ready to lash at whatever is following him, only to see a scarecrow clad in yellow and black clothing jumping up the hill. The sight makes him stop in his tracks, dumbfounded and unsure what he’s seeing. The scarecrow stops in front of him, a cocky- and kind of cute, smile drawn on its face.

-”... Hello?” Dimitri waves his hand, which is starting to look more of a paw now, at the scarecrow, and it jumps with glee as he does. “Can you speak?” he wonders, but the scarecrow stops to sway a little back and forth.

-”I’ll take that as a no.” he chuckles. “My name is Dimitri. Do you know where I can find the witch living out here? Or anyone that can help me break a curse?” he asks anyway, hoping that the scarecrow at the very least understands him. It seems to actually do, seeing as it jumps in one spot for a short moment before springing on forward.

Dimitri calls for it to wait, and it does, but only for long enough for him to catch up, jumping all the way up the hill-- a dark castle looming over the edge.

His breath falls short at the sight of the castle-- it’s small, but a castle nonetheless, a large wooden door with a brand he cannot recall, even though it feels like he’s seen it before. Walls and towers made of dark stones, ragged red banners hanging loosely, bearing the same brand as the door. The middle of the brand almost resembled a bizarre eye, staring right through him, seeing everything he so desperately tried to keep under lock and chain. 

The long branches protruding from it seemed like they would tear you to pieces if they did not approve of what they saw. Even so, the image felt frozen in time, the thorns and horns completely still, watching, waiting.

Dimitri wanted nothing more than to walk away, but the scarecrow didn’t seem to care much for the eeriness of the place, and gleefully strutted towards the door, waiting for him to catch up once more.

-”This better not be a trap.” he tells the scarecrow- that he’s certain would be laughing if it could, as he knocked on the door. There was no response, so he creaks the door ajar, peeking into the darkness.

Fangs digs into his lips as he pushes the heavy door open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes claude is the scarecrow
> 
> beast!dima is inspired by this artwork! (https://twitter.com/onagachan/status/1194644464284790785)


	3. The Mage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The infamous devourer of hearts and mage of Gautier makes his entry

A large, dimly lit room is the only thing that greets him, a small fire burning away on a elevated stone form, the white stones cracked and withered with age. A worn chair stands alone in front of it, ripped red jacket draped on the back. Dimitri looks out over the room, cluttered tables overfilled with books, cutlery and heaps of dried and fresh flowers. The whole room smells like a garden, albeit a very dusty one. Messy, and not just a little, yet... it didn’t feel like a home. If it wasn’t for the fire, he’d doubt anyone still lived here.

Dimitri only now realizes he’s breathing heavily into the night air, dust clinging to his tongue. Grimacing, he doesn’t bother attempt swipe it away-- his furred hands would hardly make it better, so he settles with trying to swallow it down as he calms his racing heart. Seems the run up here took more out of him than he’d like to admit, and frankly, that chair is starting to look rather inviting...

-”I’ll apologize for the intrusion tomorrow...” Dimitri mumbles for himself and sits down, removing his shoes not to dirty the floor all too much-- “Paws, huh.” he wriggles them loose and just, looks at them in silence. He wants to scream, he truly does, but forces himself to settle for a deep sigh instead. Seems like his transformation is a rather slow one, while it has... definitely made him hairier, and turned nails into claws, there really wasn’t much else. Swollen and bitten lips soon reminds him of the fangs sitting uncomfortable in his mouth still-- while the curse certainly has changed his body, it has yet to overtake all of him.

Dimitri lets his tired gaze wander throughout the room, over the aged wallpapers, the once vibrant red now faded and dull. Painting of landscapes from faraway places and kingdoms, from the purest of snow, to deep forests concealed by endless greens, to gravel filled sands of foreign deserts. Gaze continues to follows along the wall, taking notice of the two other hallways leading further into this mystery castle, then lower towards the tables and overfilled cabinets along the wall. There’s a few more chairs stuffed under one of the tables, and they seem to be in use, judging from the empty spaces above them. Flowers, new and old, litters most of the room, rows of rows of bouquets. Followed by enough books to fill a library, and entire dinner table carrying most weight. Oh how he’d love to rummage through them and just spend the entire night reading... to savour each word, fingers ghosting along the ink.

On his days off back in Remire he’d either spend reading or out with Mercedes, teaching children how to read, and to fight for themselves along her brother, Jeritza. Sir Jeralt often praised his skill with a lance, and while he cannot tell where or when he learnt to wield such a weapon, it proved to be more of a necessity than for show. Rogues and bandits sometimes plagued and harassed the folks in the outskirts of town or on the fields. Dimitri recalls one thing very clearly, the one time he ran to a young maiden’s rescue-- warm blood splashed over his face, lance right through the chest. He still remembers his face-- blood streaming down his bearded chin, eyes blown wide in terror, gurgling out curses as he frantically tried to remove himself from the lance-- the corked head got stuck in his back, sealing them both to it-- his own grip so tight it left imprints in the forged steel.

Dimitri growls quietly, fangs growing, the curse echoing through his mind.

__ “ _ Each time your heart darkens, each time your mind is overcome with evil... you will turn into a beast, a beast that will kill everything in its way _ .”

His heart thunders through his chest, anger rising far too fast for a brief moment before he regains what’s left of his senses--- he cannot let that witch win.

Deep breaths, in, then out, repeating until the hammering in his chest slows.

Once the darkness of his mind clears, if only for a bit, Dimitri opens his eye once more, glaring at the ceiling, cobwebs and dust clinging to the dark wood. There has to be a way to break this curse- and if the only way is to end that wicked witch’s life then so be it. For now, he shall focus on solving this without violence, without unnecessary bloodshed. One step at a time, as sir Jeralt would put it.

Slowly slowly, Dimitri doses off to fond memories of beloved ones, and a faint scent of roses.

-”Are you really sure I should wake him?” a young, tender, though nervous voice speaks.

-”How else are we going to see if he’s alright?” another, stern, determined one, replies.

-”W-well we could wait? I’m sure Sylvain wouldn’t mind...”

-”I do. Who knows when that hopeless flirt is gonna get back anyway!” she groans, “Or would you rather have me wake him up?”

-”Alright, alright! I will wake him! Just keep your flames away from his fur, please!” his hand soon ghost atop his shoulder, fingers shaking.

-”I’m awake.” Dimitri opens his eye to look at him-- a young boy with ashen hair, freckles across pale skin, curious green eyes staring at him.

-”I’m so sorry!” he flies back, stumbling in his steps.

-”Who are you? How did you get in here?” the woman's voice speaks again, but when he looks around she is nowhere to be seen, “I’m right in front of you!”

Dimitri’s gaze eventually lands on the fire burning warm and bright on the stoneform, two green eyes staring at him through the flames.

-”The fire is  _ speaking _ ?!” Dimitri struggles to rise and ends up falling backwards along with the chair, hitting the floor with a loud thud.

-”Excuse you! Have you seen yourself?” she scoffs, small arms grabbing hold of the stones, looking down on him, “You’re hardly human. This shouldn’t surprise you.”

-”I  _ was _ human.” he scoffs right back, getting back on his feet.

-”Good for you. Now answer my question- how did you get in here?”

-”... Through the door? How else? It wasn’t locked.” he gestures towards the large door, and her gaze immediately darts to the young boy putting the chair back in place.

-”I swear, I locked the door! You saw me do it, too!” he argues, pointing a finger at her.

-”Then how did he get in?!” flames erupts, before she settles back on her place atop the small pile of firewood. “Sylvain hasn’t returned, so it can’t be him.”

-”... A scarecrow led me here?” dear goddess, saying that aloud sounded a million times worse than the thought.

-”A  _ scarecrow _ ?” the flame speaks up in a mocking tone, glaring at him.

-”Wait!” the boy jumps between them, “Did it wear black and yellow clothing?”

-”Yes! I asked if it knew someone that could help me, and then it led me here.”

-”Ashe! Don’t tell me you actually believe him!”

-”But it’s true!” he turns to look at her, “Sylvain talks to it too!”

-”Oh, so because Sylvain’s been hitting on random scarecrows again we should trust him?”

-”I’ve talked to it, too! The scarecrow is alive, and while it can’t speak it seems to be sentient.” the boy stands up straight, before turning back to face him.

-”I apologize for the improper start. My name is Ashe Duran, and this is Ingrid.” he gestures to himself and then to the fire, “Now, uh, please forgive my bluntness, but why do you... look like that?” Ashe makes a small gesture with both his hands as he holds them up to his head.

-”I- is there a mirror here somewhere?” Dimitri holds back the panic growing through his heart the best he can, following Ashe into one of the hallways to see exactly what he feared-- two fluffy, round ears where human ones once were.

-”You said you were human- can I ask what happened? And, is that the reason why you’re here?” Ashe timidly asks, having let Dimitri stare into his reflection for a while.

-”Yes.” he sighs, moving his hands back down from his head-- he still has actual, human hands still, only hairy. Perhaps a little of the transformation regressed during the night? “I was cursed a few nights ago. I came out here to seek out the witch living somewhere on this mountain for help. I don’t know why the scarecrow led me here though...” Dimitri faintly recalls asking the scarecrow for directions to the witch-- or anyone that could help him break a curse.

-”Oh, then Sylvain might be able to help!” he claps his hand together, “He isn’t as skilled in curse-lifting as Lysithea, but he knows his way around a curse for sure.” Ashe assures as they walk back into the living room.

As on cue, as they return, so does a certain mage.

The heavy door flings open without a sound, shutting just as silently as the man walks in, beaten flower crown on his head, and with a matching three piece bouquet in his arms.

There was truly no mistaking him-- the man that saved him really is  _ Gautier _ .

They both stop to just look at each other, time frozen in this very moment. Dimitri cannot help but to feel as if his suffocating gaze reeked of despair-- that slowly but surely transformed into something more... solemn. A darkness neither of them could breach.

-”Ah, Sylvain! Welcome home.” Ashe greets, walking ahead to pry the flowers from his hand to place on the table with the rest, as usual.

-”Thank you.” he hums, then his gaze returns, cheerful smile returning in full force. Without a word, he strides forth, until he’s almost chest to chest with Dimitri, who hasn’t been able to process his movement until it’s far too late.

-”You look so adorable.” Sylvain chuckles and plays with his ears, a low purr unintentionally growing from the back of his throat.

-”Don’t.” Dimitri warns and grabs holds on both of Sylvain’s warm wrists, fitting nicely into his hands, dear goddess, was he this small before?

-”Or what, you will eat me?” he coos, and the horrid image of him doing just that emits another growl from him, “Or would you rather have me eat you?” he winks with a tilt of his head, teasing smile revealing faint dimples.

-”Sylvain!” Ingrid roars and flames erupts all the way to the roof, “Show some decency!”

-”Sorry sorry.” he laughs, slinking out of Dimitri’s grip with ease. “Pardon my late introduction. My name is Sylvain Jose Gautier, owner of this humble castle, at your service.” he bows, and returns with a genuine grin.

-”Now, my fair little lion, may I ask for yours?”

-”It’s--” he cannot trust him with his true name, “Dima. My name is Dima.”

-”Dima?” he echoes, hint of surprise mixing into his mischievous tone, “That’s a very cute name.”

-”So is Sylvain.” he retorts with a huff, hoping to divert the conversation to literally anything else. Sylvain throws his head back in laughter, shirt drifting just a little more open and revealing a familiar brand burnt into his skin. It’s similar enough to make no mistake, it’s a much cleaner version of the brand he’s been seeing printed on the castle’s decor.

-”Sylvain, Dima is a  _ guest _ .” Ashe puts a certain tonnation to the word, and Sylvain merely waves his hand while he dries away tears from his laughter.

-”I figured. The curse is fresh, I can still feel the magic oozing from the contract.”

-”Contract?” Dimitri questions, wondering what that meant- and how one feels magic that isn’t their own. Is that regular for mages? Perhaps he should’ve let Annette tutor him in the arts of magic after all.

-”Hm? Oh, yes, you don’t know, right.” he clears his throat, “When a curse or hex is placed with a touch, that area becomes a  _ contract _ , so to say. It’s the place where it begins.”

-”... That doesn’t explain anything.”

-”Yeah yeah it’s magic and all that.” he sighs and puts a hand to his stomach, “Now what I really need is a good breakfast- how about I treat you, and we’ll call it a date?” he winks with a sly-- cute? Dimitri had to admit, despite the gray hair and the lingering fear he might lose his heart at the end of this -- Sylvain’s smile is breathtaking, especially this one, reaching his eyes and right to Dimitri’s own heart.

Though the promise of breakfast causes his body to reply much faster than his mind nor mouth ever could, stomach rumbling loud enough for all of them to hear.

-”It’s a date.” Sylvain does his best to hold back laughter, Ashe rolling his eyes before disappearing into the hallway, “What would you like to eat? We don’t have much at the moment, haven’t made it to any markets yet.”

-”Anything is fine.” Dimitri says, and figures he must be one of the few who can say that and genuinely mean it. There’s no need to be overly picky now that he can’t taste anything.

-”Are you sure?” Sylvain asks, and there was something in his gaze just then, that Dimitri couldn’t decipher.

While Sylvain calls to Ashe to make the regular, Dimitri wonders why he seemed so distant, yet brotherly at the same time. As if his heart wasn’t with him--- yet desperately wanted, longed,  _ yearned _ , to be.

‘ _ I’m reading far too much into this. I barely know him. I don’t know him. _ ’ Dimitri shakes off the thought, though finds himself  _ wanting _ to know him. To know the man behind the shallow flirting, and the infamous Gautier name. Sylvain calls for him to follow and he does so without much ado, allowing himself to gaze around the house some more. The hallways are much like the living room, worn and listless, victims lost to the everflowing passage of time. There are broken portraits hanging in a row, along a deliberately torn family photo, every face slashed into oblivion. As they enter the kitchen-- a much larger, clean, bright room filled with vases and urns containing countless herbs. A small round table stands in the corner, plates already placed and ready to serve.

-”Sorry for the simple meal, I’ll make my way to the market later.” Ashe promises from by the stove, looking over his shoulder as Dimitri walks into the room with amazement written over his fuzzy face.

-”I’d be honored to cook for you, but Ingrid won’t let me .” Sylvain sighs and droops dramatically as he sits down, the flames huffing at him from beneath the pot.

-”Oh? Can she travel throughout the house?” Dimitri asks when he sees her familiar flames heating up the stove, the boy offering her his thanks.

-”Yeah, I built in some pipes that connects to most of the castle. Felt a bit mean to keep her in one place since she lives here too y’know.”

-”I see.” is all he can reply with, amazed to see such investment put into the very structure of the castle solely for her to be able to roam somewhat free throughout the building. Can a man said to be heartless truly accomplish such a thing?

While Ashe prepared and served breakfast, Sylvain asked Dimitri what he knew about his curse, and what he recalls of the event. Transformative curses are amongst the hardest to break, and without knowing how the curse was cast it often remains unbreakable. Curses, spells, and hexes alike are all counterable as long as one knows how they were cast, along with what kind of magic that was used. Curses in particular are mostly cast with dark magic, building off the darkness within the casters heart and soul, as well as any literal darkness nearby. Light magic is stronger during the day and full moons, while dark magic relies on darkness in all it shapes and forms. As a result, most white magic is focused on healing rather than hurting the target. Of course there’s much more types of magic than just two, fire, thunder, ice, and wind only a few examples of such. Sylvain’s own magic leans more towards a mix of light and fire, allowing him a wider range of spells than what only one type would normally provide. However, all mages has a limit that must never be crossed, their very life at stakes once that line is passed. Of course one can push their limit with patience and training, it still takes many years before reaching any noticeable changes.

-”Do you remember the curse itself? Was it a spoken curse? There ain’t a lot of people who can cast curses without saying it aloud.”

-”Uh, is it safe to repeat it?”

-”For you yeah, you aren’t a mage as far as I can tell.” Sylvain nods, “You can write it down if you’d rather not say it.”

-”I’d prefer that, thank you.”

-”No problem, I’ll be right back.” Sylvain rises from his seat and disappears upstairs, Dimitri only now taking notice of the staircase by the doorway into the room.

-”I can give you a tour later. It isn’t easy to find your way in here.” Ashe chimes in as he places the finished breakfast on the table- a simple omelette with toast and ham on the side.

-”Thank you. If you don’t mind me asking, how come you work here?” Dimitri can’t help but to let curiosity lead him a bit-- this place is simply too interesting to let anything go unnoticed.

-”Ah, uh, it’s a bit of a, err... it’s a bit embarrassing, actually.”

-”I’m hardly in position to judge you.” he assures, watching the tension drop from the young man’s shoulders.

-”To be completely honest, I was a thief. I was here to steal and got caught, but Sylvain just laughed it off, and offered me a place to stay.” Ashe begins, then tells the tale of how he ended up here.

Ashe and his siblings became orphans very young, and lived on the streets in the Kingdom for a long time. Ashe was the oldest of them, and tried to keep to honest work in order to feed them, but it was never enough. No matter how much he worked, the little he earned was never enough to feed them and keep them safe. In the end, desperation led him to thievery, stealing from shops, bypassers, even the occasional knight.

Until the day he was caught.

-”It was foolish of me, I know.” he sighs, “I broke into a noble’s estate, intending to loot whatever I could get my hands on...”

Yet, the one thing he got caught up on was a book, a  _ book _ , of all things! Ashe admits he couldn’t read at the time, but the cover of the book was simply so stunning, he couldn’t help but to stop and stare at it. Before he knew it, the noble of the house- Lonato Gildas Gaspard, who instead of turning him in, took both him and his siblings under his wings.

-”He personally taught us how to read. He even gave me the book I intended to steal.” Ashe can’t help but to laugh under his breath, “I couldn’t thank him enough, and spent all my time there trying to make up for his kindness...” despite the joy of the story, his voice turns dark, “Until the Church of Seiros had him executed.”

-”Executed? Why?”

-”They claimed him to be involved in the Fhirdiad massacre, they took him and his son to be executed for treason to the Kingdom. My whole world fell apart before my eyes, and I was powerless to stop it. No one of the knights that arrested him would listen to me... and before I knew it, I was back on the streets. I managed to get my siblings taken in by a smaller church in town. But with my reputation as a thief it got harder and harder for me to get by.” Ashe looks down on his plate, poking around his food.

-”Desperation once again led me to a noble’s estate- at least that’s what I thought it was at the time. Had I know it was the castle of Gautier I wouldn’t have set my foot here!” Ashe can only laugh at himself, twice did desperation lead him to forgiveness he did not deserve. “Sylvain caught me red-handed when I was trying to leave, but he just laughed it off, and asked if I was a good cook. Much like Lonato, he took me in, without asking for anything in return. I’ve been here since then. Sylvain is a good man.”

-”Hardly!” Ingrid butts in with a huff, “He’s hopeless, Ashe. Don’t let admiration blind you.”

-”While it’s true that I have not known him as long as you have, doesn’t mean I have to agree with you.” Ashe scoffs right back, “I will reach my own conclusion with my own eyes.”

-”Foolish.” she mutters, and disappears from the stove.

-”Please excuse her, it’s always been like this. Neither of them has shared why or how they know each other, but Ingrid seems to have grown rather... steadfast in her opinion of him.”

-”I can see that.” Dimitri nods, but still wonders why they’d settle for living together if they truly despised each other. Perhaps it’s one-sided? Sylvain doesn’t seem, as far as he can tell, to dislike her in the slightest. Until now their bickering has been friendly, of sorts- or maybe he’s just used to cruder things thanks to sir Jeralt’s mercenary company.

-”I’m back!” Sylvain comes strutting down the stairs, quill and papers in hand, “Took me a while to find some ink that wasn’t completely dried up.” he places the papers and ink down in front of Dimitri and hands him the quill, settling down in his own chair to eat while Dimitri fumbled with the quill to write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited! added some details to all chapters that i missed from the draft session.


	4. The Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> truly, one must wonder, how far can a curse reach?

_Each time your heart darkens, each time your mind is overcome with evil, you will turn into a beast, a beast that will kill everything in its way._

Sylvain reads it again and again, every word slithering through his veins, brand on his chest aching.

-”Is something wrong?” Dimitri’s voice drags his soulless gaze back to reality, back to him, “Is it not readable?”

-”Oh, no it’s nothing like that. I can read it just fine.” Sylvain assures, “I think we should see Lysithea for this one. This is not down my alley I’m afraid.” he crumbles up the note and tosses it into the bin next to the counter, the balled up paper rolling along the side before falling into the dark. Dimitri’s gaze unintentionally fixates on the paper, staring as it falls, then briskly picks up another sheet. Before either of them could open their mouths, Dimitri asks if they had an envelope to spare, tapping on the paper as he continues on what they soon realize is a letter. Ashe gets up, knowing where they’re kept as Sylvain remains in his seat, watching over Dimitri’s clawed hands gracefully sliding across the paper, not once smudging the ink as line after line is written. Quite the change, to see such certainty in his movement compared to mere moments ago.

-”Who’s it for?” Sylvain asks, head resting in his hands, “Your lover?”

-”No. It’s for my family.” was it right of him to call sir Jeralt and Byleth his family? Dimitri had precious little time to think it over, and thus settled with it for now. They truly have been like family to him for the past years, ever since he drifted down that river.

-”Wait, don’t tell me you left _without_ telling anyone? Do they know you got cursed?”

-”No, they do not.” Dimitri looks up to meet his gaze, concern glinting in that wonderful brown, “They must not know of this.”

-”Wow...” Sylvain just laughs, dragging a hand over his face, “This is one hell of a mess you’ve gotten yourself in, Dima. I must say I’m impressed.”

-”I did nothing to earn this!” Dimitri snarls, tail swiping at his feet, “I have never seen that wicked woman before.” for a moment he wondered if maybe she mistook him for someone else, but doubted the case, she acted quite certain in that matter... maybe he was a terrible person before this? What if falling down the cliff had been an execution of sorts? Something he was not meant to survive?

-”Maybe someone sent her then?” he merely shrugs, switching hand to rest his head on, “Do you have any enemies? Competition? Vengeful exes?”

-”No, not that I know...” Dimitri tries to think of anyone who could wish him harm, the void of his past only mocking him in his quest, grimacing as fangs once again digs into the inner side of his lip. Iron lingers throughout his mouth, forcing yet another growl to stir through him, Dimitri takes a moment to swallow it down, fighting back against the darkness within himself.

Sylvain rose from his seat without a sound, disappearing back upstairs, leaving a chill in the air he once inhabited. Dimitri wraps his shawl tighter around himself, a faint scent of the ironwork, the only place he knows as home, still lingering. It calms him, giving him enough spirit to finish off his letter. There isn’t much he can share if he wishes to keep this condition of his a secret, yet there’s so much he cannot help but to write as he stumbles through mental apologies to both sir Jeralt and Byleth--- to Annette and Mercedes, her brother, and Dedue too. For now, he can only pray this will be temporary.

While ink spills and clings to his fur as he writes, Dimitri slowly begins to see just how much his life in Remire has grown to mean for him, and what he’d do to return. It might be one lacking the names and faces of those who certainly loved him before falling into the river, yet a very loved life indeed. One day those memories might return, but regardless of so, a part of his heart and soul will always belong to Remire, within all their kind souls.

_But_ , a voice from the depths of his mind speaks, _do you deserve such peace?_

Dimitri puts the quill down with a sigh, resting his head for a moment, hair and fur clinging to his face from last night’s sprint up the hill. There has been countless days and nights filled with fears and nightmares that his fall into the river was well earned, that it was _meant_ to kill him, that perhaps the life he lived was one of mindless killing, pillaging, _Goddess_ above knows what else.

-”Do you really believe that?”

Dimitri jolts at the voice, finding Sylvain back in his seat, like he never left at all-- now dressed in a thicker red shirt, collar clad in white fur, though he seemed more weary and gray than just a moment ago. The glint in his eye, from when they first met, thankfully remained. Dimitri doesn’t reply, not sure of how much of his mindless rambling might’ve slipped out aloud.

-”Ah, let me guess, nightmares?” Sylvain tilts his head with a finger to his chin, his words only further stirring the anxiousness in his heart. “Could be an effect of the curse, too.”

-”I’ve had nightmares for a long while now.” Dimitri admits, “They have become more frequent as of late. I apologize, there are times when they get the best of me, even in daylight.”

-”You don’t need to apologize for having a rough night, buddy.” he smiles while playing with the remaining cutlery on the table, “We all have them.”

-”Then I pray we never dream the same.”

-”Woah, that bad?” the man seems genuinely concerned, lips pressed thin.

Then, there’s that glint in his eyes again, and he almost dances out of his seat, making his way to the cabinet next to the stove. Sylvain creaks the small doors open, revealing a grand collection of exquisite teas and coffee. Dimitri just barely registers his request to pick one while Sylvain returns to pick up a kettle, using his magic to re-ignite stove. The alluring and down-right mouthwatering scents made it a difficult choice, enough to momentarily forget he wouldn’t be able to taste any of it anyway. His gaze eventually lands on a turquoise box with a painted green citrus fruit, dark green leaves painted along the edges of the box. Bergamot, if his vision hasn’t completely given up on his remaining eye.

Oh, Goddess grace him, for the smile Sylvain gives him upon his choice couldn’t be anything short of _divine_.

Sylvain admits, noticeably flustered, yet barely so, that it’s one of his favorites. Dimitri wished now more than ever to regain his sense of taste, so that he could treasure this moment, to understand the man before him better.

It was if the world changed color before him.

In fact, it might actually be, or he’s becoming more delusional by the minute-- yet Dimitri was certain Sylvain’s hair was far more red now than only moments ago. ‘ _Perhaps that is a side effect of his magic...?_ ’ he wonders, watching the man stand by the stove still, keeping the tiny flames alive with the power he possesses. Sylvain says something along the lines of being decent at making tea, but Dimitri fails to hear the rest, watching him in silence. Surely, the man before him was taller when they first met, Dimitri is certain of such. Now, he was almost at equal height, perhaps a tad shorter. It strikes both fear and wonder into his heart, wondering how far the curse can reach, how disastrous its effects might be. Could his presence alone hurt--- Dimitri takes a deep breath, calming his racing mind, praying that lady Lysithea will be able to shed some light on what is transpiring within him.

Sylvain’s hand is warm upon his shoulder.

-”You okay there, buddy?” he asks, setting down one cup of tea in front of him.

-”I am, thank you... my apologizes, I’m afraid I have yet to collect my thoughts.”

-”That’s alright, it ain’t easy getting cursed and running away alone on top of it. If you need to talk, I’m all ears. We don’t judge in this house-- well, except for Ingrid, that’s kind of her thing.” he chuckles, Ingrid’s huffing heard from across the hall. Dimitri can’t help but to crack a smile at that-- their bickering much like a certain pair of knights Alois hangs around with in between missions.

-”Well, uh, Sir Gautier?” Dimitri fumbles, not sure what title to use.

-”Ugh, gross, no. Just Sylvain is fine. Sir Gautier would be my father, and I’d rather not associate myself with him.” he groans, and shakes off the disgust from the thought, padding back to the kettle to pour himself a cup before returning to the table.

-”Oh- are you not on good terms?” he asks without thinking.

-”Well, that’s one way to put it.” he sighs as he places down his cup, along with some sweets, hand returning to massaging his temples, “Let’s just say we never got along.”

-”I’m terribly sorry to hear that.” there’s such a genuine concern in his voice that Sylvain cannot help but to feel guilty, to cause such a grief that was never his to bear.

-”Nah, don’t be-- I appreciate your condolences, but he definitely had it comin’.” Sylvain just claps his hands together and takes a deep breath, “Let’s not talk about my family.”

-”I know! Let’s talk about yours!” he swivels around, a faint rose tint across his cheeks, flashing yet another stunning grin. “And yourself, if you don’t mind.”

-”Oh, err, it’s a little difficult to open up on the spot.” Dimitri mumbles, head spinning trying to figure out what he can say that would not immediately give his lie away... and what to actually say about himself, for that part.

Dimitri settles to somewhat reinforce his lie, claiming his name to be Eisner as well, taking time to rather talk about those dear to him--- of Annette and Mercedes, the daily joy and sweets they bring with their visits. To sir Jeralt, who taught him the arts of iron and steel. Of Byleth and Beleth, the ever so mysterious twins, with blessed hearts and minds. To Dedue, kindness stored into every fiber of his giant being. To the slow days in Remire, around the ironwork, every breath full of life--- life he still doubted he ever deserved.

-”Truth to be told... I don’t remember much past the last six years of my life. Ah-- well, I suppose my looks speaks for themselves.” Dimitri fumbles a bit, his scarred face and missing eye hardly a pleasure to behold. The scars has since long healed, yet he can’t help but to feel self-conscious when people stare.

-”Yeah, how did it happen, if you don’t mind sharing?” Sylvain asks, concern dripping into his gentle voice.

-”We don’t know for certain, but s-- my Father said I most likely was attacked and then pushed or thrown down the cliff to ensure my death. Dedue found me when he was... fishing? Or laundry...” Dimitri tries to remember, his memories of that particular day fragmented and vague at best, yet the feeling of falling never failed to make itself known, etched into his very being. “He took me up, and tended to my wounds until a healer could help. I don’t remember much of what happened after.”

-”Hold on, what were you doing out there? The rivers near Remire doesn’t have any cliffs for _miles_.”

-”I don’t remember. I could have been on my way home for all I know.” Dimitri genuinely cannot recall anything from that day past what he’s already shared. Though the man before him doesn’t say anything, the way his brow furrows and light seems to flicker in his gaze spoke for itself.

-”And your father doesn’t know either?” his eyebrows rose comically, most likely knowing the answer to be the same.

-”My sister is a mercenary. I most likely decided to head home without her, and got overrun by bandits on my way.” Dimitri inwardly wanted to yell at calling Beleth sister, only recalling the many times the Eisner family joked about legitimately adopting him. He’s sure she’d laugh, if she were ever to know of this. In fact, all of them probably would.

-”Her name is Beleth, right? Feels like I’ve heard that name...” Sylvain leans back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment, “Ah! Do tell, is she the one people call the _Ashen Demon_?”

-”That would be her. Don’t call her that though, she never liked it.” Dimitri recalls Beleth’s face from when someone, rather crudely, claimed the name to be all to fitting for someone as heartless like her. She rarely showed emotion, even less than her brother, but in that moment there was nothing but sorrow in her gaze. Being a mercenary that mostly served her well, but when it came to friendships or even offering a stranger condolences... no matter how sincere or heartfelt her words might be, they rarely reached far. It was easier, she admitted a few times, when sir Jeralt led the company, the man having his own kind of charm that she so severy lacked. Connecting and talking with people... often required something she could not give. Dimitri could only remain in his seat, thankful to know she was not alone, many from the old company still with her, fully capable to do the talking if needed.

Sylvain merely hums and sips on his tea, offering the tray of sweets towards Dimitri, who absentmindedly takes one, the biscuit crumbling between his teeth, tasteless.

Ashe soon enough makes good on his words, taking Dimitri on a tour through the castle. Starting from the ground up, Ashe begun their tour in the room they all met in; the entry hall, also lovingly nicknamed “the place where Sylvain dumps things”, something he said while gesturing to the mess that was the tables. Heaps of flowers litters most space, and Ashe can’t properly explain _why_ they’re kept to begin with, but neither does he have the heart-- nor courage, to actually toss a single one.

However, moving on from the mystery of the many flowers, they move towards the corridor on the left side of the room. Much like the other, it’s worn and listless, walls once vibrant, faded and dull. There hangs no portraits in this one, only two empty lanterns, opposite sides of a few windows letting in the wondrous sight of the green hills the castle rests upon. There’s a small restroom closer to the middle of the hallway, followed by two empty guest rooms, which remained surprisingly clean. Ashe prides himself in keeping them clean, not allowing Sylvain to toss anything unnecessary in there to make sure they have space for guests. They were both more or less the same, a closet placed by the far end of the room, then a small cabinet next to the bed. The bed itself was of a standard size, duvets of a deep blue shade, thick blankets and very inviting, fluffy pillows. Both rooms had a pair of windows. Dimitri was free to pick whichever he liked out of the two rooms, but settled to make his choice later. 

Next, after moving back though the corridor into the one on the other side, was of course the kitchen, along with the pantry, containing whatever one would need for baking and cooking, though it seemed the resources had run rather low. There was also an enchanted stone box at the far end, made to keep food frozen. Next to that was another small storage, containing cleaning supplies, a few crates of fabric, and some grindstones. The last door in that hallway lead to a smaller weaponry, mainly holding lances and a few swords, with the occasional collection of bows, and some shields. A few tomes laid stacked on a crate, and while Dimitri wasn’t sure, they seemed to be have been well used in the past.

Seeing as that was it for this floor, they both heads upstairs. The first room is the main bathroom, a large tub along with a small metal frame containing far too many soaps and scented liquids for bathing. One painted window, one that almost could belong to a church, let in light enough to illuminate most of the room. It all reeked of floral fragrances, far too much for his now far too sensitive nose. Leaving that room be, they move further down the hall of the second floor. Unlike the first, the walls here still held on to their vibrant colors, the dark red quite the sight.

There is only one room Ashe ever hesitates to open, yet he never fails to briskly knock on the door when needed. Though the man inside only welcomes them in, flaunting his bedchamber to all his delight. Sylvain’s room, unlike the clutter of the entry hall, remained fairly tidy. Tomes and books stood neatly organized in the shelves, a box of unused candles along the candleholder on the table by the bed. His bed however, was large, four entire pillows lining the top along two thick blankets, both blue, like the ones in the guest rooms. Dimitri and Ashe bids him farewell as they leave for the next, Sylvain waving them off and returning to... whatever he does in there. Ashe admits he never goes in there unless he _really_ needs to get a hold of Sylvain. The man only locks the door when he wishes to be left alone, and so it remained unlocked for most part.

Up next is the room least used- the place they both seem to have named the “Inheritance room”, for in here all the Gautier heirlooms, however important or insignificant they might be, laid stored. All ranging from ancient documents of their past lands, tales of their battles and services to the royal family, to trinkets and such obtained though their reign.

Though one thing stood out.

Along the wall, a lance made of bone and metal, rested alone, hoisted up by large nails decorated with the same banner as the outside castle walls.

-”Sylvain told me it’s named the _Lance of Ruin_.” Ashe looks at it in wonder, as he often does when he has to be in here, “No one else but the Gautier bloodline can wield it. It’s a legendary weapon, if the old tales are true.”

-”It... it is rather unsettling to look at, is it not?” Dimitri can’t help but to feel weak, as if the lance mocked him.

-”I agree.” the boy sighs, and ushers them both out of the room to last one-- namely his own.

Ashe’s room is not unlike the guest rooms, though filled with more plants and books, along heaps of trinkets. It’s a habit from his thieving days to collect things and trinkets that could prove useful later, and a difficult habit to break. The books ranged between strategic ones-- mostly untouched, to fairy tales and stories of old, and of course a neat collection of gardening guides and encyclopedia of different plants.

-”If you need me, I’ll be in here or the kitchen.” Ashe informs as they head back down to the guest rooms for Dimitri to settle during his stay.

Though as they return to the entry hall, Sylvain awaits them.


	5. The Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The small things we offer, in this grand scheme of things, can only grow in (your) caring hands.

Dimitri sits idly by as he watches Ashe and Sylvain bonking their heads together trying to figure out the best tribute to offer lady Lysithea before heading there.

-”Adding too much sugar is going to ruin it, Sylvain!” Ashe stops him for the third time to which he only whines, clarifying that there is no such thing as _too much_ sugar for Lysithea. That girl loved sugar and sweets with an unmatched passion. However, there are only so many times Ashe can take him trying to add sugar behind his back before Sylvain is rightfully banished to the table. It’s a simple recipe, really, cupcakes coated with sugary icing, topped with whichever fresh berries they could get their hands on before leaving. Sylvain, being the ever so ambitious man, only tried to make sure they’d please lady Lysithea, seeing as that’s usually the only payment she requires of him when he drops by. Her reputation as a witch is mostly folktale, traveling through whispers and words, but true indeed. Lady Lysithea truly does possess the powers she’s rumored to, her focus nowadays more towards breaking hexes and curses, rather than the brutal offensive magic she once wielded in a blind rage towards those who made her this way. Revenge never yielded the freedom she still fights for. Neither did gold.

Ashe, who still did not trust Sylvain to not ruin the cupcakes, furthers his banishment to the entry hall, telling him to help Dimitri pick out a room to stay in instead of being a bother. Sylvain, hurt by his harsh words, dramatically drags himself and Dimitri out of the kitchen back to the guest rooms.

-”Are you good friend with lady Lysithea?” he asks as they head back to the hallway, Sylvain swaying between the two doors, waiting for his pick.

-”You could say that yeah, we’ve... worked together in the past.” he hesitates on his words, “Which room?” he turns to look at him, that solemn look back in his gaze, and it felt as if a bridge rose between the two.

Dimitri closes the physical and metaphorical gap between them, mentally striding across that fragile bridge keeping them apart. Sylvain blinks at him, like a cat, surprised by his sudden movement.

-”This one.” Dimitri says, gently grabbing the handle to the nearest room, “Will be fine.”

The wrinkles around Sylvain’s eyes seems to fade, for a breath of a moment, and an unbearable heat creeps up his cheeks as Dima retreats into the room, bashful to have been so bold in his approach.

As he enters the room for this second time, he wonders how much of his time will be spent here-- while the extend of his stay remained unknown, Dimitri had a nagging feeling he’ll be here for much longer than intended. Sir Jeralt called that instinct, if one could call it that, a “mercenary’s intuition” and often prided himself in having a rather refined sense for it. Byleth had rolled his eyes before reminding him of something from long before they met, to which he only scoffed at.

Dimitri shakes his head, taking a breath to remind himself of his whereabouts. If they knew he was here-- in the Gautier castle, and _staying_ for an unknown time... he wasn’t actually sure what they’d do. While Jeralt certainly kept up with rumors and gossip in his own way, he was never one to actually blindly believe anything unless he could see it himself.

Sylvain doesn’t seem to be anywhere near as heartless as rumors claim, either.

-”By the way Dima, would you like a bath? Not that you stink or anything, but it could be nice to feel clean before we head out to Lysithea.” the man in question and mind chimes in, walking around the room until he eventually stood right in front of him. Again, he looked older than before, perhaps twice his own age, but his spirit felt far from such. The gray steaks in his hair seemed to-- no, _they do_ change, both color and place. Wrinkles and wear, too. Perhaps Sylvain suffers from more than any rumor could carry? Surely, there has to be something. There are many effects of magic, on both body and mind, both Annette and Mercedes would tell him such, but the extents of them varied greatly from person to person.

Yet, despite the curiousness settling in his chest, Dimitri did not pry, but accepted his proposal for a bath. The sprint up here had yet to leave his fur, some of it still clinging to the edges of his face.

-”Would you mind if I moved some of the soaps from the room while I’m there? I’m afraid they are too strong for me.” Dimitri timidly asks as they head back up to prepare the water, Sylvain only chuckles and nods, saying something about getting a bucket to put them in, and that he could just leave them outside the door for the time being.

-”Don’t worry about putting them back later, I’ll handle that once you’re done.” he turns and winks, soft, mischievous smile on his lips, “Unless you’d like me to join you?”

Dimitri, naturally, chokes on his breath, fumbling out excuses and apologies while Sylvain just laughs, nose scounching as a faint blush dusts his cheeks. There are plenty of large towels in the bathroom, and he was free to use as many as he liked. Dimitri may or may not have covered his ears to avoid hearing yet another scandalous offer come from his mouth before firmly, but quietly, closing the door between them.

The scent is on the verge of overwhelming.

Dimitri takes a deep breath, warmth seeping through his tired bones. Sylvain was kind enough to remind him about cracking a window or two open before leaving, the fresh air replacing the forceful, and nearly suffocating floral scents. According to Ashe, Sylvain loved floral soaps, and rarely took a bath without one. As his gaze wanders the sky blue roof, so lovingly painted, he once again wonders about the flowers down the hall, what they mean to him. Dimitri’s gaze travels downward again, to a white edge separating the two blues, the lower one, sharing the same dark blue as the tiles on the floor, reminded him of something that he couldn’t recall. It sat at the edge of his memories, at the tip of his tongue, smug and mocking, while his tail swished back and forth in the warm water. Feet, now paws, rested on the edge of the tub, his whole body far too large to fit. Of course that only meant Sylvain was very much the same, for he was not far away in size.

Dimitri slaps his cheeks before his wandering thoughts went too far south, instead, focusing back on his _own_ body.

-”I wonder...” he muses, swishing the tail with his will, back and forth, up, and then back down in the water. It wasn’t terribly hard, thankfully, a slight sway of his hips led it right where he wanted it. ‘ _Goddess, that sounded dirty._ ’ Dimitri’s face grows warm, and once more he squishes his cheeks together, gathering his running thoughts.

Slowly, he drags his clammy hands back into the warm water, sinking his head down to let the waters wash away the remnants of ghost from too many nights, voices clawing at his back, demanding his attention, his sacrifice.

It doesn’t take long before he deems his time in the waters enough and gets up, draping himself in large white towels, embroidered with tiny blue lions in each corner. Dimitri only huffed out a half-assed laugh at that, making his way back downstairs to his temporary room. Sylvain had taken his old clothing to wash them, at the very least, that is what he had claimed before strutting away with them. Dimitri did manage to say it wasn’t his own, so hopefully Sylvain didn’t do anything that sir Jeralt would hate him for.

Without further ado, Dimitri makes his way back to his room, in a house he’s only been in for the past _day_ , clad in nothing but towels, and more red than ever in his life. Just this once, Dimitri was nothing short of thankful for the fur covering the edges of his face.

The castle is quiet, despite the day having just begun. Dimitri quietly pads across the aged floors, lost in thoughts once more, clawed hands carefully pushing the handle down enough to gently creak the door open.

Upon the cabinet laid a black and blue pile of fabric-- clothes, he soon realizes, along with a pair of off-white nightwear. No sight of what he wore earlier, but neither did he have much hope to see them so soon. Sylvain _did_ say he was going to wash them.

As he fumbles with the fabric, a note slips down to the floor. Dimitri reached down, careful not to leave claw marks on the cabinet he held on to. The writing was unfamiliar, but that was no surprise, yet he could almost hear the owners voice, and the suggestive tone it undoubtedly was written in.

_These are enchanted not to tear, so don’t worry about claws. Hopefully you find them befitting of your noble tastes. - Sylvain ;)_

Dimitri sets the note back down, dragging a hand over his face to cover the flush growing up to his ears. Shrugging it off, or at least attempting to, he makes good on his gifts and gets dressed. The black silk gently sweeps over his furred features, effortlessly sliding down his torso, enhancing his slim waist. Dimitri takes notice of the dark blue patch in form of a cross on the shirt, and from a certain angle it almost resembled a dent in metal rather than fabric. Something dark flashed before his eyes just then, a memory that was not his to bear in this life, a struggled breath coming out as he regains his senses. By the time he realises he’s still somewhat in the nude, Dimitri hasty pulls on the matching black pants, the fabric much rougher, still sitting loosely and comfortably around his legs. Now, fully dressed, Dimitri lets out a sigh of both relief and mortification-- without routine he appears to be rather... a downright mess. Hopefully he’ll be able to settle here somewhat, there has to be something he can do for both Sylvain and Ashe during his stay.

Before turning to leave Dimitri realizes there’s more fabric on the cabinet still, a deep blue... scarf? Belt? He wasn’t sure what it was, hesitated for a moment, then simply took it with him as he left the room. There was no point wasting time guessing when he could just ask, for surely it was meant as part of his new outfit. Sylvain, at least according to his untrained eye, seems to be rather fashionable, each outfit of his this far color coordinated and carefully put together, drawing attention to all the right places.

Once more he walks through the halls, the faded floral scents of the many bouquets growing on him, though charming as they may be, surely there must be a better way of storing them. Even so, Dimitri decides against asking for the time being, having many other questions on his mind, including the time of their departure to lady Lysithea.

His mind makes a temporary stop by the sounds of metal clinking together.

Dimitri peeks into the kitchen, sure enough finding Ashe by the stove once again, making conversation with Ingrid over food-- she appeared to be on the verge of drooling, the boy only laughing as he tossed a slice of meat into her mouth now and again. She praises his cooking, not so subtly wanting more, and he only chuckles, contently humming while preparing the spares he very obviously put aside for her sake.

Figuring he must be making lunch, yet seeing no sign of Sylvain, Dimitri nods for himself as he heads upstairs.

Unlike before, his door stood ajar, the sound of footsteps pacing along the dancing lights of his shadow. Despite how easily he could just walk in, Dimitri knocks on the door.

-”Yes?- Oh! I see you found my gift.” he smiles, small and genuine, stopping in his tracks. Stacks of books laid on both bed and floor, “Don’t mind the mess.” Sylvain dusts himself off before walking up to him, “Need something?”

-”Ah, yes.” Dimitri holds up the blue fabric, “I’m not sure how to wear this.” he admits, voice growing weaker under his gaze, spellbound.

-”Let me show you.” Sylvain winks, gently taking the fabric out of his hands and swiftly wrapping it around his waist, pulling him closer to tie the knot into a gorgeous little bow. The slits in the cloth bared parts of his thighs, covering most of his behind.

-”You can tuck your tail into the pocket in the back when we’re out later. It’ll be safer that way.” he hums, gesturing for Dimitri to follow as they both leave the room.

-”Safer?” Dimitri echoes.

-”Yeah. Not everyone is keen on helping shifters and such. The less strangers know, the better. Some might even try to kill ya if you let it slip you’ve been cursed.” Sylvain explains, stopping to meet his gaze at the end of the stairs, holding out his hand for Dimitri to hold.

-”I see...” is all he can muster to say, gently grabbing hold of Sylvain’s extended hand despite not needing the support. The man has offered enough, Dimitri thinks for himself, already growing altmore worried of how to repay his kindness, and to not let any wayward rumors cloud his judgement.

Their hand grew cold, for only a breath of a moment.

Sylvain simply lets go, humming for himself as he enters the kitchen with Dimiri himself not far behind. Ashe says something about lunch being ready in just a minute, the rest of the conversation he doesn’t hear, gaze fixated on the mage who seemed to flee his eyes. Eye. Singular. Dimitri sighs, quietly, letting his mess of a hair and fur cover the most of the ugly scar in place of where his other eye once were. Of course he can’t remember the time when he could use it, but a stare too much was enough. In truth, he’d rather cover it up properly, but he’d surely be mistaken for a ruffian, if not worse.

-”World to Dima, are you in there?” a gentle bonk on his head along with his voice brings Dimitri back from his swirling thoughts embarrassingly fast.

-”Yes?” he breaths out, meeting Sylvain’s gaze, sorrow etched into his wrinkles.

-”Are you alright?” he asks, “Pardon my bluntness, but you were quite out of it.”

-”I... I believe I was, as you say, out of it for a moment.”

-”Glad to have you back.” he chuckles, “Lunch’s ready, c’mon, let’s eat before we get going.” Sylvain gestures to the counter, a bowl of salad along a pan of, presumably, potato gratin.

They eat in silence, though comfortably so, Sylvain and Ashe discussing which market is the closest, what to focus on and what they can spare to get later. Dimitri allows himself to get lost in thoughts, thinking back to Remire, to sir Jeralt and Byleth, hoping his letter found them well. Sir Jeralt might’ve found it absurd to the point where it must be a prank, but too much time has passed for that to be true by now. Dimitri did not, as he would put it, have much of a mischievous streak. For most part sir Jeralt must be thankful for that, considering the twins sure do. With their stone cold faces, they were rarely caught either, which only fueled the fun, watching the fooled folks running in circles trying to figure out who pranked them.

Dimitri fails to notice Sylvain’s relaxed smile as he sneaks glances from his seat, Ashe’s plan on haggling on the markets now falling upon deaf ears. Time passes them all four by, the sun burning warm and bright, winds howling through the mountains.

Soon enough once they finish eating Sylvain insists that Dima meets one of his dear friends, waiting for them out in the backyard. As they move out, Dimitri wonders how one keeps a garden, or simply a backyard, with a _moving_ castle. While Ashe did mention there being more space than one can see, he still found it difficult to believe. Then again, there are many uses and extents of magic, countless of which he does not know of.

He hadn’t, if it were not in front of him, counted on a stable.

-”Are you certain it’s alright?” Dimitri lost count of how many times he’s asked by now, mesmerised by the stunning black horse in front of him, neighing gleefully while it’s tail swishes, seemingly eager to ride out.

-”Of course I am, Dima! She _is_ a horse, and she seems to like you already!” Sylvain laughs behind him, the horse neighing joyfully again, 

-”What is her name?” he asks, grinning like a fool as he turns to meet his gaze, before returning his attention to the horse, already nudging his face with her mule.

-”Dorothea. I named her after a friend. The brown one’s Petra, named after my friend's wife.”

-”She’s beautiful.” Dimitri can’t help his smile, as if glued to his face, as he returns to patting her mane, careful not to hurt her.

-”As much as I love her being pampered, we still need to saddle them up. Wanna help?” Sylvain asks, and embarrassing as he may look, Dimitri still turns to look at him, smile plastered onto his features.

-”May I?” he asks, expecting a rebuff, anything, but Sylvain only looks at him, warm eyes full of life, and something more, though he couldn’t be sure, reaching out his hand once again, leading him into the stables.

It doesn't take long, though through much reassurance, before they're both off, heading towards the settlement of the Witch of the Mountain.


	6. The Witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To tame the beast within, one must first acknowledge there is one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *looks at Fódlan map* fuck

Sylvain regrets a lot in his life- decisions, lovers, losses- there’s more to the list, for sure.

Fueling himself on love and admiration, however shallow it may be, using it to ward off his own curses, was merely one of many things he’d burn for, later.

A hesitant knock on his door breaks both concentration and swaying mental stability, so ridiculously fragile, even after all this time. Effortlessly, a charming smile plasters itself onto his face before he turns to greet none other than their furred guest, standing clad in the outfit he bestowed. It fit him so well, Sylvain found himself thinking, ignoring the warmth creeping up his cheeks. Black and blue truly brings out his best colors.

-”Yes? Oh! I see you found my gift.” he smiles, small yet true, and wonders if Dima can see that. “Don’t mind the mess.” he hears himself say, dustsing himself off, still not having found the notebook he clearly misplaced last time he cleaned, before walking closer, close enough to see Dima’s breath fall out in uneven falters, “Need something?”

-”Ah, yes.” Dima holds up the belt, careful not to hang claws into the fabric, “I’m not sure how to wear this.” his voice grows weaker, spellbound.

‘ _I’ll burn for this._ ’ Sylvain’s mind, perhaps conscience- what remains of it, screams.

-”Let me show you.” he winks, fully aware his magic is working on him, gently taking the belt out of his hands, swiftly wrapping it around his, surprisingly, slim waist, pulling him closer under the pretense of trying together a small bow. He’d like to be closer, closer than this.

Still, he takes a step back.

-”You can tuck your tail into the pocket in the back when we head out later. It’ll be safe that way.” he nods and gestures for Dima to follow as they both leave the room and mess behind.

-”Safer?” Dima echoes behind him,

-”Yeah. Not everyone is keen on helping shifters and such. The less strangers know, the better. Some might even try to kill ya if you let it slip you’ve been cursed.” he rambles on, and looks back at him. Once glance and he _knows_ , knows his spells are working, knows with all the shallow remains of his heart--- that this is the moment, he’ll burn for the longest.

-”I see...” is all Dima replies with.

Sylvain extends his hand, magic pulsing at the tip of his fingers, ready to strike, to steal. Dima takes it without hesitation, without question-- bewilderment, wonder, a hint of fear, shimmers in his gaze as their hands turn cold.

And so, he lets him go, in all and every sense, humming for himself to pace away, to swallow down the remorse dripping with panic wrestling and swelling through his chest. Ashe’s gentle voice reminds him of food, that it’ll be ready in just a minute, so he escapes into the kitchen. Dima follows close behind.

Having nothing better to do, and neither wanting to be a bother to the chef, they both sit down to wait, Sylvain skillfully pretending to be busy with a book so strategically placed by his seat to avoid meeting his gaze, ever so fixated on him, and nothing else--- suddenly, Dima’s gaze and features darkens, looking away with a silent scowl, roughly pulling at his hair to cover parts of his face, hiding uneven scars. Lips tremble ever so slightly, fangs digging into his skin, but the man himself doesn’t notice. Golden fur grows rapidly along the edges of his hands and face.

Sylvain, ever the fool, reaches out for him before any logic thought can stop him.

-”World to Dima, are you in there?” gently tapping on his head, afraid to do much more, Sylvain sees him draw for breath, watery eye meeting his own.

-”Yes?” he breathes out, blinking.

-”Are you alright?” he has the gall to ask, despite being the very cause of his sudden jumble of emotions, or rather, the absence of them, “Pardon my bluntness, but you were quite out of it.”

-”I... I believe I was, as you say, out of it for a moment.”

-”Glad to have you back.” he breathes out a chuckle, every word genuine, for a change, “Lunch’s ready, c’mon, let’s eat before we get going.” Sylvain gestures to the counter without looking at it, watching Dima look at the food in wonder, blinking a few more times before getting up. Sylvain hides how deep of a breath he takes, relieved, yet as the claws of what he did sinks into his skin....

Mind and heart races-- was Dima truly not affected by what he did? Or is he simply too much of a saint for his own good, and pretending to be fine? Wordlessly, as he watches his back, Sylvain brings the tip of his fingers to his face, magic pulsing slow and warm, the very essence of adoration lingering upon his lips. _Oh._

Sylvain is given no time to dwell or give any of it proper thought, Ashe reminding him to get his share while he plops down on his chair.

They eat in silence, all too hungry for conversation, at first, the silence comforting nonetheless. Soon enough, Ashe begins their routinely mapping of the area, figuring which markets are the closests, what is urgent to get and what they can spare for later.

However, as time goes them peacefully by, the mage’s gaze eventually lands on Dima time and time again, relaxed smile growing upon his lips. Ashe’s many plans on haggling his way through the markets now falling upon deaf ears. The sun shines on them, warm and bright, winds singing throughout the mountain.

An even wider, more genuine smile nearly etches itself into his very being, watching Dima so genuinely happy to see a pair of _horses_ , of all things, and being allowed to ride one.

-”Are you certain it’s alright?” he asks, for the tenth time. Sylvain kept count.

-”Of course I am, Dima! She _is_ a horse, and she seems to like you already!” Sylvain assures, watching her neigh gleefully, tail swishing, eager to ride out after being confined to the enchanted stables behind the castle for a few days too long for her liking.

-”What is her name?” he asks, grinning so beautifully with a gaze practically _shining_ , sparkling.

-”Dorothea. I named her after a friend. The brown one’s Petra, named after my friend's wife.” he chuckles, much to human-Dorothea’s annoyance, of course. Petra was overjoyed when she heard.

-”She’s beautiful.” Dima smiles, so carefully patting her mane, cautious not to accidentally scratch her with his claws.

-”As much as I love her being pampered, we still need to saddle them up. Wanna help?” Sylvain asks, expecting a no from his clawed guest-- but Dima turns to face him, the most sincere, taken-out-of-a-novel kind of heartfelt smile on his lips.

-”May I?” he asks so earnestly, that Sylvain can do no more than simply smile, afraid his voice will fail him, and lead him into the stables.

It doesn't take long, though through much reassurance, before they're both off, heading towards the settlement of the Witch of the Mountain.

Perhaps if he still had a heart, it would be beating now.

For the sight before him could not be anything short of divine.

Sylvain dare gaze upon him, smiling as if the Goddess herself had breathed life into his very being, Dima just about as giddy as a child as they rode out across the open mountain plains. They are blissfully alone, their only company for some time being Dorothea and Petra, the horses, of course. Winds play across the acres of wild grass, sending leafs racing down from their homes, seeking new grounds. Clouds, far and few inbetween, large and white, painted the shining sky. It’s a day as beautiful as any other, the summer heat blissfully weaker out here, the chill from the mountain keeping everything from the snowclad summit down to the base cooler than the grounds off the mountain. There are many mountains across Fódlan, particularly at the border between the Alliance and Almyra, but the ones not too far from Remire were a bit easier to take a rest upon. Much easier to find a somewhat flat surface for the castle too. Oh, he cannot forget the ones bordering to Sreng either...

Sylvain lets out of deep sigh that midway develops into a yawn.

-”Are you tired? Would you like to take a break?” Dima’s deep voice sends a chill down his spine, in the best kind of ways.

-”I’m alright, I’ll rest once we arrive. It isn’t far.” he nods in the direction they’re heading, a lush forest in their way, “Once we get through that, we’ll be right there.”

Sylvain can’t help but to internally gush over Dima’s worried expression at his mischievous grin.

-”Wanna race?” he asks, but doesn’t wait for much of an answer before Petra is speeding up, galloping far ahead before Dorothea neighs in annoyance, dragging herself and a screeching Dima along.

-”Never!” Dima wheezes, holding onto the reins for dear life, legs shaking from holding himself in place, “Never do that again!”

-”Aww, I thought you liked to ride?” Sylvain laughs so hard he nearly fell off, watching Dima’s face turn and twist with embarrassment, all of him a mess after the wind got a great hold of him. Fur and hair stood out everywhere, the hairband now slung around his neck, and tail fallen out of the hidden pocket.

-”I do! Though I am far from experienced on horseback. I’ve only been out on a ride a few times in my life, Sylvain!” he scoffs, though his scolding fell on deaf ears as all Sylvain did was gaze upon him, as if he was sent from the Goddess herself. ‘ _Perhaps he is,_ ’ Sylvain thinks for himself, ‘ _But only to smite me._ ’ he concludes. If there ever was someone sent from the goddess to meet him, it was surely to plunge him straight into the same hell his ancestors crawled out from. Even so, Sylvain fondly remembers the first time Dima called his name.

-”Sylvain!” he yells loud enough for the man to snap out of his thoughts.

-”Yes? There’s no need to yell at me. Ingrid does that perfectly fine on her own.”

-”For a moment I thought you to be deaf.” he huffs, “Which way?” he gestures towards the forest they’ve traveled quite far into by now, no sign of either village or town, nor the plain hills they came from.

-”Ah, don’t worry.” Sylvain takes off his riding glove, tapping on the red stone upon his ring, a weak light emitting from it, showing the way.

-”What is that?” Dima asks as they continue on their way, voice full of wonder.

-”A tracking ring. You set a destination with a common spell, and bam, you can find it from anywhere in the world as long as you don’t lose the ring.” he gestures to the dull, pink light emitting from the stone. “The closer you are, the weaker the light grows. The further the distance, the brighter it shines. Neat, right?”

-”I suppose? I’m afraid I am not well versed in terms of anything regarding magic.” Dima admits and shifts a bit in his seat, stuffing his tail back into the pocket, then using his free hand to at least attempt to tame his mess of a hair still standing in all directions, roughly pulling it back down to cover the scars across the right side of his face. Seems he’s rather self-conscious about those, Sylvain notes, wondering what he can do to help-- a brilliant idea coming to mind, remembering the crate of fabric that’s been gathering dust lately...

However, busy as thing always are, they soon enough stumble upon the small village she resides in, hidden by the lush greens and hills.

-”Sylvain, are you sure this is correct?” Dima asks, eyeing the bakery before looking back at Sylvain, holding the tiny box with cupcakes firmly in his hands.

-”Yep. This is it.” he nods, “You know, some people don’t always want to be found.” Sylvain added before walking in. Whether Dima took the hint or not was hard to tell with his back turned, but the man follows him, nonetheless.

Sylvain wasn’t sure if he should consider himself a very lucky man, to have him here right at his side, or merely a thorn in Dima’s side. For he was truly too radiant, too _kind_ , to deserve any of this.

Either way, either way, they both move in, the small bell ringing as the door opens in their wake, the old man by the counter looking rather surprised to see them. A new face here, it seems, far too proper to be out here that’s for sure. Monocle hung onto a golden chain, heavy, grey cloak ribbed with matted black fur, even in this heat! Sylvain wanted to shake his head, but refrained, already feeling a heat stroke just looking at the guy.

-”A pleasure to meet you.” Sylvain greets, the man before him not charmed at all, nor moving from his spot, blocking off all entry to the back. “We’re here to see Lysithea.”

-”Are you now?” he glares at him, still not budging from his spot, not having seen Sylvain’s suspicious character here before. A glare or two are usually well earned but Sylvain can’t recall ever causing this old man any particular trouble.

-”I know that voice.” a young woman’s voice is heard from somewhere behind him, “Let the idiot through, it’s alright.”

-”Are you sure?” he asks, still looking at Sylvain with nothing but doubt in his stern gaze.

-”Yes, he’s a friend. Kind of.”

-”Wow, that hurts.” Sylvain can all but chuckle, offering her the box of cupcakes, “Special delivery, made just for you. Ashe sends his regards.”

-”What kind?” Lysithea’s face pops out from behind the man, gaze sparkling at the mention of a treat. “Hanneman, it’s alright. Sylvain is aware of my condition.”

-”Very well.” the man moves, still with a stern gaze on Sylvain. “Sylvain Gautier, I dare assume?”

-”I’m flattered! You know who I am already.” Sylvain only laughs, bowing dramatically while Lysithea sighs at the sight. “Sylvain _Jose_ Gautier, at your service. Now, may I ask why the _Father of Blood_ is doing all the way out here?” Sylvain sends him a glare right back, the stillness of the empty bakery halting to a complete stop.

Lysithea ignores the tension quickly building up between the two as she walks right past them, turning the sign on the door to show they’re closed for a while.

-”If you fools are done,” she snarls, dark swirling magic appearing and dissolving by her scarred hands, “I believe we have cake to spare.”

Hanneman Von Essar, known as the Father of Blood for his distinctive research regarding the mysterious and powerful blood and it’s descendants, left both his noble house and station as a teacher in order to aid Lysithea in her quest to regain the life that was stolen due to the torture, and while it improved and gained her power beyond compare, also took _decades_ off her life. Along with another promising scholar, who remained in the empire after his studies, Hanneman continued on the trail that boy left-- eventually leading him to find patterns within the powerful blood, as well as means to remove what once was not there. It’s a long and difficult process, albeit painful, but progress ever so prominent and rewarding.

-”We have made minor progress, this far.” Hanneman admits, looking at Lysithea eating away on the cupcakes.

-”Progress nonetheless.” Lysiteha finishes and puts her empty plate down.

-”I’m only happy that you are.” Sylvain genuinely is, without a doubt, but still wonders just how much time they have to reach that goal. Even so, he keeps that thought to himself.

-”I believe you came here with a request?” she nods to Dima, looking at him for a short moment before asking, “How much do you know about me?”

-”Not much, I’m afraid.” Dima answers, cautiously, “I’ve heard rumors of course, I came to these mountains to seek your aid.” he bows as low as gravity allows, “Please, I beg of you, help me break this curse before it devours me.”

-”I... I will do what I can, but I am no god. There are limits to my powers.” she admits, voice steady yet grieving, delicate fists clenching tight enough for bone to show. 

-”Any help you can offer is greatly appreciated, you have my most sincere gratitude.” Dima springs right up, thanking her again while she only shakes her head, clarifying that she cannot make any promises. Most curses and hexes are breakable, that much is undeniable, but even so, there are limits to even the most powerful of mages. Lysithea is no exception to the rule, something she’s been made well aware of with the years.

The four of them switches places, Hanneman and Sylvain standing a bit away from the other two, as Dima and Lysithea sat down in each chair in front of the other, holding hands as Lysithea recites every rite she has, breaking through the contract and the dark, oozing magic that binds the curse to Dima’s body and mind.

Though, as the curse repeats within her mind, the voice familiar and haunting, echoing, all the young woman can do is hold her sigh, knowing she cannot do anything for the poor man in front of her, relying on her so dearly for help. This is no ordinary curse-- nor is the magic it’s made of. Ancient and new, swirling and mixing into something destructive and dangerous beyond compare. There’s a fine thread between the two, one that she can just barely grasp, yet it lies so close to his heart, too close to make worth the risk.

Lysithea bites her lip, going further still, digging deeper and deeper to unravel the magic that snares itself into him. It bites and lashes at her, faint traces of blood slither through the new cuts on her hands.

As the pain becomes unbearable, she withdraws trembling hands, the man before her, most likely aware of her failure, looks at her with nothing but concern in his blue eye.

-”... I’m sorry. I can’t do it.”

-”Is there no way to counter it?” Dima downright pleads, holding her now bleeding hands so gently, even picking up a tissue to help the bleeding.

-”Not without risking your life.” Lysithea sighs, just as pained as Dima himself was at the news. “If I tried to break it myself, you would most likely face an immediate death.”

-”That would kind of defeat the purpose of breaking it.” Sylvain chimes in, without being asked, offering his hand to help her up from her seat despite not needing it. It would hardly be fair either, to lose his life due to others selfishness. Lysithea ignores him a bit longer in favor of explaining that while she cannot break it, it isn’t unbreakable. The best would be for the caster to lift it, or for Dima to break it from within himself.

-”I _do_ have something that relieves the transformation process.” she snatches her hand away from the mage, who backs off, hands up in defeat, “It’ll make it easier to stay in control when it happens.” with that, she disappears into another room for a short moment before returning, holding an amber stone the size of a larger pebble in her hands.

-”This is called a beast-stone, they are known to channel transformative magic. A common item for shifters, especially in other lands. I’m afraid this is all I can do.”

-”This is plenty, I thank you.” Dima thanks her, barely audible sorrow lingering within his voice.

-”I’m not done.” Lysithea stops him from leaving, “Have you been cursed before this?”

-”No?” Dima blinks at the question, “Not that I am aware of...”

-”Are you certain? Because the depths of this curse goes nearly twice as deep as it should.”

-”I, uh... my apologizes, my memories of my younger years are not the best.” Dima admits, shyly, hesitantly, Sylvain notes, gaze jumping between the two.

-”Alright, this isn’t going anywhere.” he interrupts, or jumps to the rescue, depending on the narrative, gaining all their attention in one swift motion. “It’s getting late. Dima, could you fetch the horses, while I finish up in here?” he asks, and he hurries away to do just that while Lysithea gives him a wondering stare as all three of them move back into the entry hall.

-”You _knew_ I wouldn’t be able to help. Why did you bother?” Lysithea hits him, quite hard, in the back while Dima disappeared outside.

-”Ow ow ow, no need to be so rough.” Sylvain retreats, rubbing his back, “He needs a little hope, y’know. At least he knows it isn’t completely off the chart to break it.”

-”And you couldn’t have told himself that yourself?” she questions, stare developing into a full blown glare.

-”Well, he did scale the mountain to find you, only fair he actually got to do so, right?”

-”A waste of both our times.” she scoffs, looking at the door. “You know this curse better than anyone.”

-”Guess I do.” he hums, gaze watching Dima through the window, “Am I an asshole for not telling him?”

-”Obviously.” she huffs, “You have to tell him sooner or later. Better make it before he resents you for it.” he doesn’t reply to that, already aware such a future might be all he has.

Even so, even so, a fool is rarely short on hope. And what is he, if not Fódlans biggest fool? Sylvain was not one to underestimate his abilities, but when it came to matters of the heart-- well, it was hard to act right without one to guide him.

Seeing as the visit bore little fruit, still a shimmer of hope, Dima and Sylvain bids the two farewell, leaving the small bakery hidden in the mountains behind. He does catch a glimpse of a darker shade of green hair entering the store as they leave, but doesn’t mull over it as they go, following the same trail from which they came.

The sun has since long begun to set, painting the sky in a wondrous light, the deepest of red and pink following the trails of clouds, meeting where the sun burns brightly at the horizon. Once more, he dares gaze upon the man so full of wonder and kindness, one could almost believe his presence to be one of a dream. He has since a while forgone the headband, letting it hang loosely around his neck, hair swaying with the gentle winds, uncaring for his scars in this calm solitude only nature provided.

The warm light plays across his pale skin, a sight so beautiful, Sylvain found himself drawing for breath, yearning to immortalize this image within himself for as long as life coursed through his veins. Who cares for the hills, when this man was right before him?

  
A low rumble brings his gaze right on ahead, only laughing as the familiar sight of his castle and home slowly came walking towards them. Dima laughs too, relaxing his grip on the reins, _moving castle_ , he says and waves towards Ashe’s barely visible form waving from an open window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sleep deprived and ready to roll  
> comment of dm is something seems off with the text! ❤️


	7. The Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every stumble and step is still taking us forward

Dimitri holds the stone carefully in his hands, gazing at the amber shade, and what appeared to resemble a paw mark imprinted deep within. It shone beautifully in the late sunlight, casting down beams of amber across his arms. Even so, the whole ordeal was nothing short of a disappointment. The curse still coursed freely in his veins, in his blood, as they rode across these wind beaten plains, howling with the winds.

Dimitri let the headband rest along his neck, too tired to bother, they were blissfully alone out here either way, not a soul out here but their own. Winds gently play with both hair and fur, proving an annoying reminder of the latter.

Sylvain remained by his side, the silence unusual yet welcomed. Dimitri wasn’t sure what to say, no matter what question he could ask. Still, his gaze slowly made it’s way over to him, his red hair alight with the evening light, gentle hands playing with Petra’s mane, making small braids that soon falls apart as they ride on. Dimitri is quick to move his gaze away before Sylvain manages to catch him staring, and he keeps staring ahead without a word, afraid of being caught. Afraid of being seen as even more desperate than he already is.

Dimitri can only laugh under his breath, imagining Sir Jeralt’s worry, along with Byleth. There are many rumors around the moving castle of Gautier, and none of them pleasant. Tales of maidens losing all capacity of love, of men wandering away never to return, of even the most brave warriors lost in the mage’s gaze, unable to fight back. ‘ _Against what_ ’, Dimitri wonders, for not once has Sylvain forced him into anything. Then again, one is better off not putting too much merit into rumors. 

A low rumble ahead brings his attention forward, laughing along Sylvain as the castle comes into view, Ashe’s small frame waving for all he could from an open window.

-” _Moving_ castle.” he smiles, waving back. That is one thing that is undeniably true-- the castle moves, and to some, even _lives_. A living castle.

And so, the castle settles upon these silent hills, to rest for the coming night.

-”Can I ask how it went?” Ashe asks as the two of them return inside, after leaving the horses back into the stables. Dimitri holds up the beaststone, the young man seems familiar enough with the item, a saddened expression growing across his freckled face.

-”The curse still has it’s hold on me, but with this I will be able to resist it better than before.” Dimitri puts the stone back into the small sachet Lady Lysithea gave him before parting.

-”A small victory then?” he smiles, aware the goal was far from met, but every stumble and step forward still counts.

-”Indeed.” Dimitri answers, just barely catching sight of Sylvain disappearing back upstairs, humming an odd tune.

-”I’m in the middle of making dinner and could use an extra hand, would you mind helping out?” Ashe asks before turning on his heel, returning to the kettle and pot by the stove.

-”I must warn you, I am terrible at cooking.”

-”So is Sylvain.” Ashe laughs, “No need for expertise, I’m sure you can stir the pot while I prepare some salad?” he gestures to the larger pot, containing a meaty stew, metal ladle resting on the handle. Dimitri agrees, mostly because he never got to do much cooking back in Remire, but much more being that he wants to somehow give back for their kindness.

-”I'll do my best to not leave any fur in our food.” he jokes, Ashe laughing merrily while rinsing the cabbage and other vegetables he managed to get his hands on today.

Whatever is in this pot is already making his mouth water, the meat cut into thin slices, along with potatoes and carrots all cut the same way, swirling around in a dark gravy. It was in moments like this, that his mind and memory would play tricks, of dinners and desserts so delicious in his mind, that Dimitri would always crash into a devastating disappointment by the time he recalls he won’t be able to taste a thing. Perhaps there is a spell to counter that? It might mean he’ll have to admit his dead taste buds by asking, but even so, he’d much rather live with a temporary shame than clinging to a lifetimes of small lies, calling whatever comes his way delicious. Even so, Dimitri wonders just how he lost his sense of taste, but surely he was not born so, unless the few memories he has are nothing but fabricated delusions from a time where he was more than an engraving on a daggerless sheath.

Sir Jeralt used to ask around a lot the first few years, digging around rumors and gossip, trying to find any lead to where he might have fallen from. There had been many revolts and upstages all over the continent by the time Dimitri was found floating down that river, so many years ago. It made puzzling the pieces of his identity altmore difficult. Surely, anyone could claim him to be their kin, and Dimitri would be none the wiser. No one ever did. Perhaps his family died? Were they killed? Were they part of an uproar that only ended in tragedy?

A glimpse of bloodstained brown hair, violet eyes staring right at him, a dark edge growing as her terrified scream fades.

-”Ah--!” the memory forces his whole body to flinch, ladle slipping out of his grip. Dimitri, somehow, manages to catch the ladle before it hit the floor, but the swing of his arm held too much force. “Oh no I’m so sorry for breaking your ladle Ashe---”

-”Dima calm down, you didn’t break it!” Ashe assures, and for a moment, Dimitri felt brave enough to look back at the ladle, and finding it, while noticeably dented, still very much whole.

-”It... didn’t break?” Dimitri blinks, lips soon curving up into a small smile, it didn’t break!

-”Dima, why would it break? You only took hold of it?” Ashe questions, curiosity seeping into his kind voice.

-”Ah, no, I should probably explain myself.” that said, Dimitri just barely managed to contain his joy, “You see, I’ve always had trouble controlling my strength, and so I break things more often than not. You have no idea how many brooms and lances I’ve broken these past years.”

-”Lances?! Brooms I can understand, but _lances_? How?” Ashe asks with a mixture of bewilderment and amusement.

-”I would also like to know!” Dimitri laughs, “I’ve always been strong, and while that has surely helped, it has also, as you now know, resulted in a lot of damage.”

-”Hm, maybe the beast-stone can help you with that?” Ashe taps his cheek, the stone hanging around Dimitri’s neck, “Perhaps your strength comes from something else entirely? Oh! Maybe you also possess some of that--” Ashe gestures wildly with his hand for a moment, “Powerful blood, or whatever they call it!”

-”... I have to be honest, that thought has never crossed my mind. Maybe I should have thought of it sooner.”

-”Maybe you got it from your father? He was a former Knight in service to the Church of Serios, right? Their knights are the best of the best, it wouldn’t be too far fetched.”

-”I thought only nobles carried such blood?” Dimitri questions, but recalls that information very clearly. Bloodlines blessed by the Goddess herself, if the church teaching holds any truth. There is a faint memory of Alois mentioning Jeralt also carried powerful blood. Even so, sir Jeralt was not his father, but whoever his father- or mother may be, might have carried such blood. That does makes Dimitri wonder, and yearn, to know them altmore.

-”Illegitimate heirs, kidnappings, a noble getting frisky with a maid, you name it.” Sylvain chimes in as he enters the room, “Where do we keep the bandages again?” he asks, making a dramatic gestures to his clearly needle-struck finger.

-”First cabinet to the left, the one you used to sit on all the time with the newspaper.” Ashe gestures to the hall and Sylvain only hums in understanding as he pads away.

-”Why is he walking barefoot?” Dimitri can’t help but ask, seeing as neither he nor Ashe wore shoes but still kept their socks on.

-”I’m not actually sure.” Ashe admits with a shrug, “One less thing to lose sleep over.”

-”It makes me feel grounded.” Sylvain answers as he returns, box of bandages and such in hand, getting to work once he’s down and comfortable in his usual seat. “Besides, the castle is warm all the time.”

-”Right, and Sylvain Jose Gautier, famous Mage of castle Gautier, can’t stand a little heat.” Ashe teases and mimics one of Sylvain’s many dramatic poses.

-”Hey, can’t help I was born and raised in some frozen wastelands.”

-”Maybe not, but you _could_ use a little heat training. There are bathhouses and saunas for that.”

-”Just thinking about it is giving me a heat stroke.” he snorts, struggling to keep the tiny bandage in place, before giving up and begging Ashe to come over and help him. He refuses, sending Dimitri to help instead, focusing back on their dinner. While Dimitri himself wonders if he’ll be any help, gladly tries to anyway. Tending to his own wounds has become a skill of his, after many years of slightly reckless patrolling and work. Sylvain accepts his help regardless, guiding him through where to hold while he put on another layer of adhesive tape to keep it all in place.

-”Did you really need to use a bandage for that? Don’t you know healing magic anyway?” Ashe asks before Sylvain manages to scurry back upstairs.

-”Unless you’d like to clean off dots of blood everywhere, then yes, I do need it. Healing magic is difficult to use on yourself anyway.” with that, he’s out of sight.

-”I wonder what he’s up to now.” Ashe says to no one in particular, then turns to Dimitri who’s back at his side, stirring the pot, “He usually gets a little secretive when he’s working on something.”

-”... what _does_ Sylvain work with?” Dimitri asks, only now realizing he has no idea what sort of position mage really is.

-”Oh, he’s sponsored by the Church, kind of. They asks him for help or updates from time to time. He’s rich from birth, too. This castle didn’t rise from the ground with legs on it’s own!” Ashe snort, both imaging the scene-- a looming castle rising from its frozen grounds, shaking generations of snow and ice off it’s ancient roof, casting eerie shadows in its wake.

The hours move slowly, dinner coming and going in what suddenly feels like a blink, a mere flash of a moment, and then it’s already night. The sky shines with its brilliant stars, new moon hanging low on the dark canvas. On sleepless nights, avoiding nightmares and the calls of ghost that bore no names, Dimitri often found himself seeking solace in those very stars and moon, ever so constant in his life. For even if the darkest clouds hid them away, they would still be there come another night.

Dimitri sighs and slinks into his nightwear, pleased by the unexpected size-- it hung loosely around his frame, the cotton breathable enough not to suffocate him in layers of fabric and fur, something he was undeniably prone to, the castle pleasant and warm in every corner. He would thank Ingrid for that in the morning.

As he crawls back into bed, this time with the intent to sleep, he takes forth the sheath hidden in one of the cabinets many drawers, holding it close to his heart as he wraps the shawls close to his head. It’s faint, but still there, a faint scent of iron, of hours spent bending and polishing metal into perfection, of years spent with people who cares for him.

‘ _Tomorrow_ ’, Dimitri thinks for himself, slowly drifting further and further into slumber, ‘ _Will be another day. One step at a time, until this all is over._ ’

Dimitri sleeps peacefully that night, no dreams nor ghost to haunt him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dusts off my keyboard* sorry it’s been so long! been working a lot of overtime, and generally lost my writing mojo for a bit.


	8. The Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beware of the shadows, even your own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *vacuums keyboard* sorry it's been so long!! been working on this chap on and off for the past months in between irl work

The entire world swayed.

Dimitri awakens in a flurry at the crack of dawn, sleep holding a strong grip of both body and mind as he tried, and successfully, rose from the soft bed, lone eye peering through the wind beaten window. Green hills move beneath the castles mechanic feets, everything swaying with steady steps. While Dimitri understood it must feel like it moves while inside as it does, it was surreal to experience it. Though, as he hurries to get dressed- careful to not forget the stone-- having promised to accompany Ashe on a round to the markets- he can’t help but to wonder where they are headed.

Something cold settles deep within his scarred skin at the thought of ending up somewhere too far away from Remire, a point of no return. Dimitri swallows the ice making nest in his chest, refusing to let any wayward nightmares distort what is truly in front of him.

-”Good morning.” Dimitri greets, voice heavy with sleep, entering the kitchen to find both Ashe and Sylvain by the table-- though it seems the mage is far from awake yet.

-”Good morning, breakfasts’ ready on the counter.” Ashe replies, continuing to write on their grocery list while absentmindedly asking Sylvain if there is something else that needs to be refilled. The mage mumbles something about ink, Ashe nodding and dutifully writing it down, humming as he goes through a mental checklist of the content of each cabinet.

-”We could use some more meat, but I’d rather hunt for that.” he mumbles, crossing something out and circling in another, “We’re short on spices too, so I’ll look around for some. Do we have enough horse feed to last?”

-”No, we need to get some or take a stop in a place with better soil.” Sylvain yawns, tapping on the no longer cluttered table like it would magically lift the sleep from his being.

-”I’ll look around for that then, most places are barren now since folks have their own animal out...” Ashe mumbles something that no one hears under his breath, probably not as awake as he’d like to be. Dimitri is an early riser himself, but wonders nonetheless how early these two are generally up. This far both of them has always been awake longer than he has, yet were always up and ready long before. Does either of them get enough sleep?

-”If you are still tired, we can leave later. Please don’t overexert yourselves.”

-”Oh, don’t worry about me, I got up extra early today to sort through our pantry.” Ashe waves it off as nothing, but stops in his tracks to thank him for his concern. ”Sylvain will be better once we’re settled.” Ashe says while clapping his cheeks, trying to shoo the sleepiness away.

-”How so?” Dimitri asks, seeing as that was hardly a valid explanation. The two have lived here with only each other, and Ingrid, as company. Many things that normally goes unsaid, already elaborated and known for years, makes little to no sense to Dimitri.

-”Movin’.” Sylvain looks up to meet his gaze, “It takes energy from me and Ingrid both to have this place moving. Once we’ve found a place to stop I’ll be fine.” he says with a small smile, wrinkles deep around his eyes, grey streaks having found their way back into his fiery hair, covering most of it now. Ingrid can move the castle on her own, but it takes a tremendous energy to do so.

As for now, the castle is heading closer to the Monastery, edging towards the border to Faerghus. The sound of the name, Faerghus, Faerghus, Faerghus... it rolled easy on his tongue, tasting like the cold itself and something in him waited, hesitated, and then  _ yearned _ \-- for  _ something _ , something resting underneath his very skin.

Dimitri does not utter a word of this, uncertain he understood what any of it meant himself. Even so, a fragmented piece of his past made itself heard, in the most gentle of whispers.

Dimitri watches the sun rise over the mountains while he eats, still tasteless, yet he continues. ‘ _ One step at a time _ ’, his mind repeats, a promise, a mantra.

Sylvain’s head drops as it falls out his hand, shaking him fully awake, blinking at the sudden turn of things before abruptly getting out his chair, hurrying upstairs. Ashe blinks a bit too, moving his gaze between the staircase and Dimitri, before simply sighing and gulfing down the last pieces of his own breakfast.

-”How are we supposed to carry all that around?” Dimitri asks, looking at the list of things Ashe very much intended to get his hands on today.

-”Magic.” Ashe snorts, and pats a brown shoulder bag on the table next to him, “One of the few things that got me through my thieving days. It’s an enchanted bag that I stole from a noble-- a vile man, really, didn’t make it any less of a crime though. Anyway, it can carry a lot more than meets the eye. It does get quite heavy though.” he chuckles, then goes into a slightly more throughout explanation of the bag and their travel plans for the day. Easiest way to get everything would to get most from one place, but that’s far too expensive in the long run, and many sellers price their items differently depending on the location-- knowing where to go and what the difference was is one of the many keys in art of haggling. Or  _ resourceful _ , if you’d rather be fancy about it.

Anyhow, both time and location moves on with a steady rhythm, and as the two of them are about to depart, Sylvain hurries down the stairs to halt them.

-”Thank goodness you haven’t left yet-- have you told him about the door?” Sylvain stops mere a step away, Ashe immediately dragging a hand through his hair.

-”You mean you  _ haven’t _ already?”

-”I’m just asking!” the mage throws his hands up in defeat, gesturing to the door while Dimitri moves out of the way, Sylvain padding over to the door much like an excited puppy, perhaps a fox cub. Dimitri tries to not let that mental image manifest so clearly into his mind, yet it does.

-”Right, so this door,” he gestures to the old wood in all its charismatic bravado, “Is of course, as the rest of the castle, fueled by my own and Ingrid’s magic. Not only that, it allows you to travel between a set of doors in marked locations.”

-”Travel? As a warp spell would?” Dimitri questions, and truly wonders what kind of heavy defense he broke into so easily when he first came here.

-”Indeed! If you see the Crest of Gautier above the handle- this spiky little thing right here,” Sylvain points to the brand imprinted in the wood, “Then just tap it, and bam, you’ll be right back here. Not all doors work of course, mostly common ones that people won’t notice someone not coming back out from. They are scattered a little here and there, only those who has stepped foot inside this castle can see them.”

-”How does one know where the door opens?”

-”It gets easier with practice.” Ashe steps in, “First, you picture your location as clearly in your mind as you can, then you simply open the door. If it didn’t work, you’ll simply end up on our doorstep. It’s okay, I’ll handle it for now, just follow me.” the younger man opens the door, revealing a busy market street, stepping out into the warm sun.

-”Before you go.” Sylvain is at his side, a warm wind, and smoothly slips on a ring onto Dimitri's index finger. “Tap it twice to find here, tap it trice to find me.” he leans closer and winks playfully, “You know, in case you starts to miss me.”

Dinitr does not get a proper chance to reply-- not because he had anything witty or clever to say, before Ashe’s deep sigh is a good enough reminder that he is needed somewhere else, somewhere that isn’t plastered to Sylvain’s side, as though he somehow belonged there.

-”I must go.” he says, heart barely prying itself from the mage’s side as he briskly walked the short few steps into the light.

The door shut closed with a silent thud, mark of Gautier shining faintly for a brief moment before fading into a dull grey. Behind them stood a bookstore, odd writings seen through the dusty windows.

-”Wanna try it when we head back?” Ashe asks, waiting for Dimitri to collect himself. Bless him, truly.

-”Perhaps another day. Please, lead the way."

Without any further ado, they head out towards the markets with determined steps, as does the shadows watching them.

-”Do you know where we are?” Dimitri asks, recalling how the doors worked, thus unable to stop wondering just how much of Fódlan-- if not the  _ world _ , that the two has seen through their travels.

-”Goneril territory. I haven’t been here much, but the markets around here in the summer are good places to strike a bargain or two. There are quite the numbers of merchants here in the Alliance, much more than in the Kingdom. Though I’d assume that’s mostly due to the cold, not many can handle the biting winds of Faerghus.” Ashe chuckles, having seen many venture to try their luck only to turn on their tails.

-”I see... may I ask, how much of Fódlan you have seen? I haven’t traveled much myself.”

-”Mostly where Sylvain brings me, really. I haven’t been to all too many places, I try not to stick out. It wouldn’t to us any good if anyone figured out where I stay. I have been to all three countries on numerous occasions though, if that’s what you’re asking.”

-”Ah, true...” Dimitri can only think of the many rumors surrounding the castle of Gautier, and the mage himself. One must wonder just how little of those rumors resembles the truth-- for Sylvain is many things, but heartless he is not. He would not help a thief, if he did not care for the unfortunate. He would not care for his horses so gently, if he did not care for their well-being. He would not open his house and home to a stranger, if he did not want to help. He would not bake a cake for a friend if he did not care for them. Can a man lacking a heart do any of these things, without demanding something in return? Dimitri would, at the very least, like to believe in Sylvain. To believe in the kindness he has seen, and felt, from him. Ashe watches him quietly, smiling for himself as they continue on their trip.

-”Surely you can afford to go lower?” Ashe eyes the bundle of arrows, fully aware of how overpriced they were in both quality and season.

-”These arrows are a luxury hunting items, imported from Brigid! See those feathers? We don’t have those in Fódlan!”

-”Hm, that only means I can’t trust how well they fly. Seems I have to go elsewhere.”

-”W-wait, I can guarantee they fly just as well as any arrow would.” the red haired merchant halts them, picking up one of the arrows to show just how nicely it was made, the wood strong despite it’s thin size, deep purple feathers swaying as she moves it.

-”As any arrow would? That does hardly make them worth the gold then.”

-”Alright, fine, I can give you a ten percent off, do we have a deal?”

-”Make it twenty and I’ll take the whole bundle.” Ashe keeps his grin small, but Dimitri was starting to see a pattern to what he considered a success.

-”That was quite the sight.” Dimitri smiles as Ashe pushes the bundle into the bag along with the ink and Almyran spices they managed to get their hands on earlier. “I must admit, I never saw the appeal to haggling until now.”

-”As an employee I can understand that, but for us out here on the street it’s the difference that makes it all.” Ashe blushes under the praise still- not many are keen on praising him for something most would only berate him for.

-”Where to now?” Dimitri glances at the list, only horse feed and dried meat left now.

-”There’s a butchery just around this corner-- ugh, they’re crowded today-- wait, a seasonal sale?” Ashe’s eyes twinkle at the handwritten sign, despite the mass of people already inside the store. Dimitri eyes the crowd, barely any space left to move for in there. At least, not for someone his size. The curse had caused his body to grow, wider and taller. Ashe though, with a lithe body and many years on the street, could no doubt maneuver in there without much issue. In fact, it indeed seemed they shared the thought, Ashe asking Dimitri to hand over their bag, mostly to make sure no pesky knight came to “inspect it” while Ashe was gone. Wouldn't do them any good if got confiscated, nor found to be stolen in the first place.

Dimitri watches Ashe disappear into the butchery, slinking between the people nearly falling out of the open doors. With that, Dimitri takes a deep breath and sighs quietly, taking in the humid air, fur and hair already sticking to his skin in various places. The beast stone rest heavy against his chest, it’s name feeling nothing short of ironic, considering what the curse is still turning him into, bit for bit, for each passing day.

‘ _ No. _ ’ Dimitri sighs for himself, ‘ _ I must not think that way. _ ’

As shadows clouds his mind, another creeps closer, until it is far too close for comfort.

  
  


-”Got it!” Ashe cheers as he comes back outside, only to find air and and empty space far too cold for a summer evening. Dima is nowhere in sight, and his stone lays upon the gravel, rope snatched in two.

-”Oh no.” stumbling, fearing for the worst, “No no no no---” Ashe scrams for the nearest door back to the castle.

Lance of Ruin pulses to life in the mage’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do I enjoy making fire emblem men suffer? maybe a little!  
> not super happy with how this chapter turned out, so I might come back later to re-work it. thank you for reading!


	9. The Ruins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A caged beast is a dangerous one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will things get better from here? *spins wheel*  
> also! forgot to write it last time, but we've reached the half-way point! this story will be around 16 chaps if all goes according to plan

Old wood swings open only to be slammed into its frame, something heavy dropped onto even older floor as it creaks under another weight, panicked footsteps bouncing off the ancient walls. Ashe calls for him, voice ragged and trembling--- yet still not breaking his vow of ever entering his bedchamber without permission.

-”Come in--” Sylvain doesn’t get the chance to ask what’s wrong before Ashe answers.

-”It’s Dima.” he holds up the stone, the snapped rope hanging menacingly in his hand. “He was gone when I came out-- I- I think he’s in danger.” the pale man stammers, hands shaking.

-”Where?” Sylvain rises, heading out of the room with Ashe close behind.

-”Goneril-- main market street.” Ashe stumbles, hesitating behind him as Sylvain dismounts the lance from it’s confinement on the wall. The Lance of Ruin pulses to life in his hands.

It glows, burning with the countless souls stolen by its might, mocking Sylvain’s powerlessness. Sylvain has since long mastered the art of telling the soulless voices to fuck off to the same hell it crawled out from. The lance, in turn, has since long mastered the art of torturing Sylvain without a mortal sound. The bones cracks and moves, stone glowing it’s cruel shade of blood stained red, their mark, their very own blood, tied to its monstrosity.

-”Ashe.” Sylvain turns to unlock the armor closet, “Fetch your bow. Prepare the horses.”

Ashe hurries away to do just that, throwing one last concerned glance at the mage, his friend, as autumn red hair turned ghostly white.

Sylvain watches his lithe frame disappear out of the room, back downstairs. Hastily, hesitantly, he stares at the armor since long stuffed into this closet. Last to wear it would be his father, something he wore with a wicked sense of pride during his prime, Sylvain clearly recalled. Spiked pauldrons adorned with their emblem, clawed gauntlets made of black steel so void it might very well send him right back from the hell they sprouted from. Even so, even so, even the threat of a fiery death in the very depth of hell could not deter him from his determination. Heavy, it weighs on him, chains of their shared sins ensnaring his very being.

-”Sylvain?” Ashe’s voice tears him away from the darkness, on the verge of consuming him, “We are ready when you are.” he continues, now clad in leather armor, quiver and bow ready at his side.

-”To the stables.” he replies, armor clanking as he moves, step for step. Petra and Dorothea, the horses, stand waiting, prepped with spiked armor as well, in Gautier’s haunted red. Those pieces hasn’t been used in--- centuries, it must be now, yet manage to look brand new. Undoubtedly infused with the same cursed magic his father---

-”How will we find him? I... I didn’t see who took him. Or where they went.” Ashe’s gaze fall upon the ground, hands trembling at his sides.

-”The rings.” Sylvain taps on his own three times, “Work in reverse.” a vibrant, deep blue light manifests, showing the way. ‘ _I’ll find you again, my prince. Hold on._ ’

‘ _They most likely have mages in their party._ ’ hooves smatter against sun-heated gravel, ‘ _Goneril is a busy place. Either professionals or fools._ ’ equally dangerous depending on their numbers, too. The light of his ring still shone bright despite the strong daylight, whispering it’s warning as they ride further and further into rural villages, until there was no homes of the living left. Seems to be a post-war relic, a place that did not stand the passage of time. Lands scorched into ashen wastelands--- despite that, life has slowly but surely returned, lush bushes and weeds overgrown. Mouldy wood breaks beneath Dorothea’s steelclad hooves, rubble of past mouds and walls littering the area. Overgrown, forgotten, and hidden away from the world.

Light steadily weakens until they reach a former house, since long sunk into the ground.

-”Look.” Ashe point towards a large wooden door, still whole, despite the rubble surrounding it. “It’s new. He’s down there, isn’t he?” he looks at the light, going downwards through the wood and stones.

-”He is.” Sylvain replies, Dorothea trotting forward, tail swishing as he sets the wood aflame, revealing a staircase of stone leading down into a morbid darkness. Lance of Ruin glows brighter in the absence of light, spreading its terror. Appears the place has been heavily altered by magic, or tools still unknown to the mortals of day, the stones just a step down nothing the same of the rubble around it.

Ashe tenses up behind him, Petra stopping in her tracks, hesitating.

-”Ashe.” Sylvain speaks up, and looks back at his friend, “Watch my back?”

-”Of course.” he nods dutifully, and soon they both descend into the unknown.

Silence. Not a sound nor word is heard, barely a breath either. If someone were to scream, they’d be none the wiser. Perfect place to hold someone captive, in other words.

Ashe rides up closer, holding onto his torch for dear life.

-”My, scared of the dark?”

-”Th- this is no time for jokes, Sylvain!” Ashe send him a glare colder than Fearghus winter.

-”Sorry.” he chuckles, “Didn’t mean to drag you down here.”

-”Then let's hurry and find Dima so we can leave.” he huffs, striding on at his side.

To call it a light at the end of the tunnel was an overstatement, some kind of dull green shimmer lighting up the edges of a larger room, numerous corridors leading to-- Goddess knows where. One blue string of fate leads them down one further down, soon enough finding themselves by a cage...

Dima sits by the wall, knees up to his chest, heavy, thick chains holding him back, whole body shaking as arms and tail tremble around his legs, clothes torn and soiled in mud. Blood-- _blood_ stains the tiled floors, cracked stones and what must be severed limbs and shattered weapons scattered around him.

Ashe draws for breath but doesn’t hesitate to jump off, landing with a silent thud as he hurries to the single lock keeping them apart-- immediately working on picklocking it apart. It falls down in mere seconds, Sylvain barely down himself yet, when Ashe darts through the now wide open cell door. There is a silent buzzing going off somewhere in the dark.

Figuring that could be no good, Sylvain runs up with Ashe, both of them coming to a complete halt when Dima lashes out, claws strong and bloodied, gaze panicked, unsteady. Then, a hint of recognition glints in his eye, the man stumbling back to the wall, shaking much worse than before. Blood flows out from the many cuts adorning his body, clothing torn in places where magic and metal met flesh.

-”Dima...” Ashe pleads, looking to Sylvain, hair swaying rapidly between red and silver, then at the chains-- at the several locks.

-”Focus on the locks.” Sylvain assures, moving closer, too fast for his liking-- Dima already growling, shaking his head. “Dima, we will get you out of here, just focus on me, can you do that?” the mage is now within slashing distance, both well aware of such, when Dima falls back down to his knees, hands covering his face. One lock falls open. Whines and growls is the only thing falling out from his mouth, even so, focus slowly returns to his eye, claws retreating slightly.

-”Do-- don’t-- want-- to hurt-- you--” words fall out in uneven whimpers, his breath forming small clouds in the cold air. ‘ _Fuck, he must be freezing._ ’ Sylvain realizes, moving closer still, firmly holding his gloved palms against his trembling hands.

-”Dima.” Sylvain pleads, “Look at me, we will get you out of here.” _soon_ , he hopes, eyeing Ashe working through the second lock and onto the third. Dima holds onto him like a lifeline, falling into his embrace, sobbing.

-”I’m a monster I’m a monster I’m a monster---” large tears rolls down his dirty cheeks, smearing blood into fur and hair.

-”You are not.” Sylvain holds him closer, blood staining his armored hand as he caresses his back, fabric soaking it up like a mad beast. Truly, if any of them was a monster, then it was Sylvain, not this gentle soul ensnared by blood soiled chains.

-”I am a _beast_ , Sylvain, look at me.”

-”I see you Dima, and I see a person. In fact, I see someone who is actively not trying to be a beast! That isn’t a very beast-like thing to do, now is it?” Sylvain huffs, but just ends up laughing at the intimacy, the sudden dramatics of it all. “C’mon, let’s get you out of here, alright?” he nods to Ashe who drops the fourth and final lock in victory.

It takes a great deal of Sylvain’s strength to lift Dima’s shaking frame of the freezing floor, tail instinctively wrapping around his arm while they hurry out of the cell, back to the horses waiting nervously by the gates.

-”Intruders!” yells a voice, unknown, inhuman.

Sylvain spares them no mercy.

-”Burn.” he speaks, a threat and a curse, flames sparking to life and into vigorous flames around them all, “Until we meet again.”

Air itself wrings out his him, pressed too tight and then vanished-- until the wind of the world caresses his cheek.

-”Ugh, that never feels right!” Sylvain shakes off the disgust of warping too many at once, holding onto Dima for a moment longer before helping him up on Dorothea’s back.

Sylvain hastily sets fire to the remains of the house for good measure before striding off, Dima’s grip tight against his armor. Everything past Dima’s grip on him is a blur, Dorothea leading the way home more than he could hope to. A low rumble grows-- Ingrid coming with the castle to meet them, metallic joints creaking worryingly.

Swinging the gate wide open, Sylvain strides in with Dima in his arms, shivering, blood still oozing from wounds refusing to heal. Ashe rushes in soon thereafter, horses left in the stables to be disrobed of their armor later--- Dima being top priority.

Leaving Dima, even in Ashe’s caring hands mere steps away, felt like a test from the Goddess herself, as Sylvain tore himself away, to lay his scarred hands on weathered stones of the fireplace, splinters falling apart under his weight.

-”We need to relocate.”

-”Where to?” Ingrid’s flame asks, swaying with their shared powers.

-”Gautier.”

-”Sylvain--”

-”I’m sure.” he meets her concerned gaze, “We will be safer there.”

Ingrid knows, in all it’s truth, that Sylvain is right. Few a fool ventures far enough into Fearghus to ever reach the frozen wastelands of Gautier.

Sylvain lifts her flame with his bare hands, walking backwards over creaking floors into the center of the room, all the while Ashe and Dima watches in something akin to wonderous terror. Decade old seals spark back to life, dancing between the cracks of his former self, ancient floors and sigils made of blood and tears breaking through their concealments. Stones and metal grinds together, powerful gusts of steam sending a shrill screech echoing across the lands.

Powerful winds tears and tug at his soul and being, Ingrid’s flame swaying with their shared powers, his magic youthful compared to her, endless and eternal.

Autumn red and silver snow sways and fades, seasons merging yet falling apart all the same.

Ashe remains silent, holding onto a barely conscious Dima for all he’s worth, growing altmore distressed-- Sylvain’s hair is paler than it has ever been, pure as snow, gaze colder than ice.

Then, air and time seems to stop, sucker-punching the very breath out his lungs before the familiar rumble of the castle settling down in deep snow, metallic screeching finally coming to an end. Sylvain collapses against the white stones, returning Ingrid to her place, her tiny arms reaching out for him-- he turns around, facing them both, gaze absent, all hint of red gone from his head, wrinkles running deep. Despite moving the _entire castle_ \-- with a warp spell, no less! The mage still walks, unsteady, yet one foot in front of the other, before kneeling down beside the now passed out Dima. Light, warm and gentle, floods from his hands, swirling across bleeding skin until each and every wound closed.

-”Will you take care of him?” he asks, voice low, nearly gone.

-”Of course-- what about you, Sylvain? You-- you look awful.” through all the challenges and losses they’ve faced thus far, Ashe knew with certainty that he’d never seen Sylvain look this terrible. A hint of something darker, beastly, rested beneath his skin, threatening to break through.

-”Ha, I suppose I do...” he still manages to laugh, resting a gentle, ever so careful, hand in Dima’s sweaty hair. “C’mon, let’s get him to bed, and then--”

-”Sylvain!” Ashe nearly smacks his hand onto his shoulder but manages to halt himself at the last moment, landing gently, “I _beg_ of you-- please rest, you’ve done so much--- you’ll break at this rate! Please, let me handle this. I want to help.” even so, Ashe’s mind was jumping over itself trying to figure out a way to help either of them-- Sylvain will not stay conscious for much longer, even a child could tell as much, and Dima is far too heavy for him to lift on his own.

-”You always leave such a mess.”

-”Felix?!” Ashe looks up to see him, dark hair and amber eyes, black tail swaying with silent steps, ears twitching. Swords and fur coat lay discarded by the door, along with the ridiculous thigh-high boots he always wears in human form. “How long have you been here?”

-”Since morning. This fool over here left the kitchen window open all night.”

-”It’s summer, Felix! Can you blame me for wanting some air?” despite nearly falling over, Sylvain still bends over dramatically, daring to laugh at Felix's signature scowl.

-”Kitchen?” Ashe turns to Sylvain with an immediate scowl only rivaled by the swordsman, “Is that why you were up so early? Don’t tell me you up all night again?”

-”I made tea! You know I do that some nights!” Sylvain puts one hand up in defeat, steadying himself with the other, arm trembling, “Can we save the scolding for another day? We do have more pressing matters at hand.” he gestures to Dima, still unconscious, in Ashe’s lap.

-”Agreed.” Felix speaks up, “Take the fool back to his room, and I’ll handle this one.” he adds, helping steady Sylvain back on his feet before effortlessly lifting up Dima’s dead-weight body, striding off for the left right corridor.

-”He might not like it, but he really does act knightly at times.” Ashe smiles as he rounds the corner, then hurries to get Sylvain to his own bed before said man collapses himself, more on the brink of happening than either of them would dare to admit.

As they walk by the corridor window, all he can think of is Sylvain’s hair engulfed by the white lands of Gautier, drowning in centuries worth of snow and ice. He holds onto him a little tighter, just then and only for a moment, a reminder to them both that they are still alive, and still worthy of life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how could I pass up catboy felix? (more lore about him will be in the coming chapters!)  
> THANK YOU FOR READING!!


	10. The Stray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do not dwell for too long, or you too shall be gone

Dark, snowclad mountains stands in the distance, watching, waiting. Fir trees, much larger than he’s ever seen them grow, stands frozen in time, snow and ice engulfing all, held captive with no mercy.

Sunshine reflects in the pearly snow, bright to the point of pain. Dimitri shields his gaze, staying in the shade of what must have been a house, at least parts of it. Breath falters out in small clouds, matching the ones flying far above, casting large shadows across the lands. Silence so heavy it overwhelmed-- as if nothing lived here, never did and never would, yet remained _haunted_ by whatever it was that drove life away.

Voice failed, any words strung together, stuck deep in his throat. Restlessness grows like a stubborn itch along his body-- despite the unfamiliar terrain, the nagging uncertainty tearing at his fur, Dimitri steps into the blinding light, familiar sound of snow crunching beneath his feet. The wind playfully bites against his skin, making a mess of both fur and hair.

Eventually, something comes into a view-- a well, if he was not mistaken. Unlike the trees, along everything in their surroundings, no snow rested on the dark stones. Dimitri takes a deep breath and braves the short distance, carefully laying furred hands onto the cold stones, peering into the darkness, the well shrouded by shadows from above and within. There is no water-- a small, shadowed figure rests against the wall. Is there someone there?

Dimitri leans closer to the edge, trying to see if the shadow truly was a person to begin with-- clouds above them move, sunlight falling directly into the well-- rubble, dirt, and dried blood, hair of autumn shade, and two brown eyes full of tears meeting his gaze.

Water darker than night itself sprouts from the cracks-- engulfing all and everything in its way, rapidly overflowing-- bursting out of the well to claim him too.

Dimitri unceremoniously falls out of bed and lands on the floor with a loud thud, blanket torn at the edges where claws ripped through the fabric, feathers spilling out like freshly fallen snow. A chill runs deep through him, gaze darting to the window-- cracked in one corner, ice spreading across the broken glass. Hauntingly familiar scenery greets him. Tall, tall trees buried in snow, dark mountains at the horizon, watching, waiting.

Dimitri does not wait.

Body screams and begs for him to slow, white lines of marred skin, healed by a magic touch, sore and angry. Images, while blurry, disoriented, resurfaces-- Sylvain’s soothing voice and warm hands, holding him firmly, grounded, safe. Ashe’s determined green eyes, reflected by the shimmering of the dungeons lights, that those-- _fiends_ , tossed and locked him into, with force enough to kill any ordinary man. The clattering of the chains and locks, the freezing floor and walls, even colder chains, digging into his skin. Weapons and magic that tore both flesh and soul. They spoke in tongues he did not know, nor did they bother for him to understand.

But now, right in this fragile moment of vulnerability and fear, Dimitri couldn’t care less for their reasons--- images, clearer than the rest, of Ashe holding him closer with trembling arms, spotted red with blood, watching as Sylvain’s hair turned ghostly white with his and Ingrid’s shared powers, magic so overwhelming it rattled the very bones of his being, shaking the core of his soul.

‘ _Goddess._ ’ Dimitri pleads, lone eye burning with the promise of unshed tears, ‘ _Let them be safe, please, I beg of you._ ’

-”Dima!” a familiar voice calls for him, her fiery gaze meeting his own as he stops in his tracks. The sounds of chairs scraping on wooden floor, footsteps following just as fast, Ashe’s frame appearing from the kitchen, green gaze blown almost wild with hope.

-”Dima!” Ashe yells, “Oh thank goodness you’re awake!” any respect for personal space is momentarily thrown with the wind, Ashe making nothing short of a leap at Dimitri who catches him as gently as his body allowed. Without the beast-stone to hold his strength back, Dimitri feared of holding on too tight, thus letting Ashe to control the intensity of their hug. Ashe holds onto him, holding back tears judging from the sound of his breaths, soon enough easing his grip and sliding back down on the floor.

-”I should probably have asked if you were alright first,” he sniffles a little, “Are you alright? Any pain?”

-”Some soreness, though nothing overbearing.” Dimitri looks towards the kitchen, only finding a man with raven hair sitting where Sylvain should be. “Where is Sylvain? Is he alright?” worry blooms like poison throughout his chest.

-”In his bedchambers, and he should be alright soon.” Ashe’s gaze falls upon the dark staircase, “It took a lot of him to move the castle so suddenly. Sylvain... refuses to be seen whenever he becomes like this. It’s best to let him be for now.” he said with a sigh, still gazing at the staircase.

-”How long will he stay away?” Dimitri presses on, the dark waters of his nightmare tugging at his heartstrings, nearly drowning him. He couldn’t abandon neither the thought, nor Sylvain. A near primal urge to see him settled deep in his chest, refusing to budge, yet his feet remained firmly planted on the dirty floor.

-”A few days, two weeks at most.” Ashe scratches his neck, gesturing for Dimitri to follow him back into the kitchen. “Truly, I’ve only ever seen him like this twice during my five years here... I wouldn’t call him unreachable, but he’s not in the mood for socializing. Not even Ingrid can reach him, as he is now.”

-”Reach him?”

-”Oh, yeah. I keep forgetting there’s so many things you have yet to know... Sylvain and Ingrid are connected by the powers they wield. I don’t know the details, and neither do they seem to remember it very well themselves. They can communicate without spoken words. When I first came here, he’d sit with her in complete silence, but he started talking with her out loud when he realized I couldn’t understand a thing. I guess you can say my presence here is one reason why he talks more now. He is a rather talkative type, once he gets going.”

-”I see... I suppose they share a past we can’t begin to imagine.”

-”I am right here, you know.” as on cue, Ingrid speaks up from the stove, fire taking up her space now that there wasn’t any kitchenware in the way.

-”How did it go?” Ashe turns to ask, then points to a small plate with meat next to her.

-”I can sense him there, but I can’t reach him.” she sighs, small arms frying the meat as she lifts it, fat sizzling with the heat. Dimitri’s stomach makes a very loud and embarrassing noise at the sight, Ashe chuckling at his side before getting back up.

-”Of course you’d be hungry, I’ll prepare something right away!” Ashe grins while rolling up his sleeves, gathering ingredients so fast Dimitri barely has time to register his movements, though he might be a bit dizzy still.

Dimitri’s gaze slowly falls onto the dark haired man, who has yet to speak a word, sitting mere an arm length away. Amber gaze is focused on the newspaper in his hands, dark pupils darting over the text. Wrinkles, two perfect lines, are etched deep into the pale skin, just beneath his eyes. His posture, face, the air around him--- is too familiar, yet couldn't be placed, pinned down for an answer.

-”It’s rude to stare.” he speaks up, glancing Dimitri’s way, before focusing back on the paper.

-”Says the one who hasn’t even said hello.” Ashe scoffs with a laugh, the man scoffing back before putting the paper down.

-”My name is Felix.” he extends his hands, claws sharp and deadly, “Felix Hugo Fraldarius.” he adds, Dimitri only now taking notice of the cat-like ears atop his head.

-”I am Dima Eisner. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Dimitri lies without meaning to, his taken name coming out far easier than it should. The name, Fraldarius, rings a bell-- a memory, just out of his reach, desperately trying to fill in the gaps.

-”I'll make things clear-- I am not like you.” Felix’s words are sharper than swords, hurting without intent, though the edges of his face softens, if only for a moment. “I was born this way. Tail and all.”

-”Oh.” Dimitri breathes out, relieved, “I take you are aware of my situation, then?”

-”I am. Ashe filled me in while you were asleep.”

-”How long was I asleep?” Dimitri asks just when Ashe returns, handing him a plate with a pair of sandwiches and fruit.

-”Two days. I was so relieved to see you awake that it completely slipped my mind to tell you.” Ashe admits a tad bashful, but quickly regains his composure, giving a short recap of what transpired after he passed out.

Ashe aided a barely sensible Sylvain back to his bedchambers once the castle settled back on solid ground. Felix, who arrived unknowing of the disaster taking place just the night before, safely returned Dima’s healed body back to his room. Sylvain, definitely past the point of overexerting himself, still healed Dima of all his wounds. Healing, while easier on other than on oneself, taxed the caster regardless. Nothing happened past that, the two taking turns to make sure Dima didn’t die in his sleep.

For Sylvain, who already used a great deal of magic getting them safely away from Dima’s kidnappers-- pushed himself all too far moving the castle and them all at once-- thus the isolation. During their five years together, Ashe has only ever seen him like this twice, both times equally devastating. Luckily, Ashe has always been good at caring for others, and with the old type of door with small hatchways at the bottom allowed to him to at least offer Sylvain food while still respecting his wishes to be left alone.

-”Apart from pushing himself too hard, I believe being out here is what’s hurting Sylvain the most.” Ashe sighs again, shoulders slumped against the wooden chair.

Being here, in old Gautier territory, has never done the mage any good. The first time Ashe came here was fours years ago, the two hiding when a rather nasty uprising within the Church took place, having connections to the claims of Lonato’s involvement in the massacre. To protect Ashe from getting dragged into it, and risk execution at the hands of the Church, Sylvain moved them out here without warning. Unless someone could enter through the marked doors, no one would find them. It’s the safest place they could be, yet simultaneously the most damaging for Sylvain, these very grounds haunting him more than any ghost could ever measure up to.

Sylvain may guard his past like a dragon would guard their nest, but Ashe knew of rumors turned myths, whispered between mouths and cold winds--- that a demonic beast only heard of in myths, came to this place over a decade ago and claimed the lives of everyone in the Gautier household save for Sylvain, all of them brutally slaughtered in their own main hall.

Deep somewhere in these ruins lays the remains of the old castle, along the corpses scattered across the ancient foundation where a grand hall once stood. Folk believed it to be the Srengi at first, their lands stolen by Gautier in a time long forgotten, but they remained on their side of the border, slowly but surely taking back what once was theirs. No evidence but prejudice and ingrained hate pointed towards them, and thankfully no one took matters into their own hands, clinging to outdated ideas of justice. These lands have remained frozen and barren for centuries, the Gautier’s of old the last line of defense, or assault as many later claimed, against the Srengi. What truly transpired that day, no one knows for certain. If anyone would, it’d be Sylvain, but the trauma of the event most likely sealed his memories of that cold night.

‘ _He returned here... for me._ ’ Dimitri gaze travels towards the stairs, heart tugging at his soul, growing altmore impatient to see him, to make sure he’s alive and well.

Felix’s tail, black and swift, flicks by his feet.

-”Eisner... isn’t that the name of the ironworkers in Remire?” Felix looks accusingly at Dimitri.

-”Ah-- yes. It is. One of them.”

-”Eisner is not a common name, not in the Empire or the Kingdom.” Felix states, claws clicking on the table, “They have been looking for you, you know. Your friends too.”

-”I sent s-- my father a letter. I couldn’t face them like this.” Dimitri’s heart sinks at the thought-- of sir Jeralt, Byleth, Annette, Mercedes, and Dedue, all looking for him in vain, worry tearing at their souls as no trace could be found. He was careful not to leave any.

-”Are you familiar with my father? Or Byleth?” Dimitri shoots back, wondering where this accusation came from. Neither of the twins made many friends before settling down in Remire, and Felix was not a familiar face nor name. And frankly, he seemed too young to be one of sir Jeralts acquaintance.

-”Not particularly. Heard a thing or two when I passed by on my way here. They do make excellent swords though.” there’s an unmistakable glint in his eyes just then, one Dimitri has witnessed many times upon the occasions where the commissioners would come and pick up their orders, eager to take their new weapons for a spin. Dimitri doesn’t bring that up, keeping in the back of his mind for now. The daggerless sheath hidden in his borrowed room sighs through his heart.

Then, however, does the name _Fraldarius_ click-- posters with his name, pleading for his return, offering bounties and honor to whoever could find the Duke Fraldarius lost son. Dimitri never paid much attention to those, lacking what they searched-- but now here he was, in front of a man bearing one of the many names written in tear-smudged ink on posters, begging for them come home, safe and sound.

-”Why did you leave?” he asks without meaning to, shutting his mouth just as fast as something dangerous sparks in the man’s eyes. Felix glares at him for a moment, glancing over to Ashe who returns his glance with a look he couldn’t decipher- before heaving a deep sigh.

-”Because my father is a hopeless man bent on tradition.” he groans, the fur on his ears and tail standing, “I was never meant to take his place. Rodrigue, my father, is the King’s advisor, as well as Duke Fraldarius.” Felix continues, telling bits and pieces of his tale.

Felix, born with the powerful blood residing in the Fraldarius bloodline, was made heir upon birth, despite being the second son. His life thereafter was molded, shaped, and ruled by the ideals of inheriting his father's title, his position, responsibility-- dreams. He was to be the crown Prince’s royal advisor once the prince was old enough to take the throne-- a man he never met, and never would. While the royal massacre took away that part of his future, his brother narrowly avoiding the same fate-- though many of his friends, mentors, did not. All his father had to say about them, many of them slaughtered so badly they could not be pieced back together for a proper funeral-- was how they died like true knights.

-”His idea of chivalry begets the worship and glorification of death. It’s _grotesque_ .” he spits, anger seeping into more than just his words. “Glenn- my brother, lost an arm but kept his _life_ . He _survived_. That was all that mattered to me. I did not mourn the prince enough for my father’s tastes, but why would I? Apart from the horrifics of his death, along many others, there was nothing for me to mourn.” Felix drags his hands through dark locks.

-”My life was pledged away before I even knew my own name. My sole existence was to serve someone I’d never met. I refused. Both title and my worship.” to very little avail, that was. Rodrigue never cared to listen to what Felix had to say, too angry, too sensitive, too young, too much, yet never enough.

Glenn, unlike Felix himself, was the perfect son in every way-- loved by his friends, respected by peers, clever and fast on his feet, an excellent warrior. He cared about Faerghus future in a way Felix couldn’t fathom.

-”My brother has always been the better fit for the role than I could hope to be. So here I am.” Felix leans back in his seat, “And I will stay away until my brother exceeds as the next duke.”

-”Don’t you miss them?” Dimitri felt his blood seep with jealousy-- wishing he too, could at least know the name of his own kin. To have Felix so easily abandoned his own on a disagreement on something as vague as ideals--- made his skin crawl.

-”Sometimes. But sentimentality alone is not worth the price of freedom, nor is tradition. I’ve left behind enough clues to prove I’m not dead. Besides,” Felix’s gaze wanders to the window, the mountains, and the horizon beyond. “The world... not the dukedom. Not the Kingdom. Not even Fódlan’s own border is the limit anymore.” there’s a spark in his voice, whispering of travel and adventure, of shaping your own destiny.

-”How did you trip to Dadga go? You were heading there last time we spoke.” Ashe perks up, the air in the whole room transforming into something much lighter. Dimitri takes this chance to calm his nerves, recalling the curse very clearly, fangs digging deep into his skin.

-”Quite well. Met a rather odd pair on the way. One of them was very skilled with her sword, despite the peculiar shape.” he muses, thinking back on their sparring session during the short time their paths crossed.

As the two delve deeper into conversation, Dimitri’s mind slips away, lone eye gazing longingly at the staircase. Sylvain’s name, voice and warm hands, echoed like sirens lulling in his head-- of course he know his pursuit would bear no fruit, yet the urge to go up, to at least try, kept banging at his ribs until it echoed through his skull- a mantra, a prayer to a Goddess long forgotten, an offering to the cruel deity watching over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this ended up more of a buffer chapter than intended, sorry! Felix, while still bitter, is a lot more relaxed in this au, more will be added in the next chapter! THANK YOU for reading!!


	11. The Patchwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These scales won’t tip me over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi I like writing dialogue

_ Blood trickles down his back, arms, and legs, crossing the bumps and sharp edges, racing down his skin, seeping into the floor, the foundation of his soul. These demonic, hateful shards of himself drop onto the wood, one by one, in a haunted rhythm. _

  
  


-”Dima.” Felix’s words are sharp and clear, cutting through the fog of his clouded mind, “I’ve told my story. Only fair you do the same.”

-”That is fair.” Dimitri agrees, “Though I am afraid I don’t have much to share...” he admits, but the man remains unfazed, waiting for him to continue.

Dimitri does his best, sharing the tale of his six years spent in Remire with the people he grew to call, and now claimed, to be family. Of the days spent at the ironwork, learning the arts of iron and steel, growing more skilled for each day. The many hours of joy his friends brought, along with sweets and songs, sometimes chaos, but always fun. Of Dedue, who saved him from the waters, the kindness he gave so readily, his family angels in mortal form. Of the twins, ever so mysterious, but kindness so clear even the Goddess paled in comparison. The many cats and dogs running around town, fond of petting and company whenever their paths crossed. Of his slow days in Remire, either cleaning the ironwork or spending time with beloved friends. The days and long nights guarding both people and borders along the outskirts of Remire, lance in arms. Teaching children to read and fight, both necessary in this world. Then, of course, of whatever tragedy or accident that took his eye, and left his body adorned with scars, any past memories of childhood torn to shreds along with him.

-”We still are uncertain what truly happened, but my father believes I was attacked after I separated from Beleth.”

-”It is fortunate you survived.” Felix agrees, seemingly relieved to hear the tale behind his many scars, “Though that name, Beleth... how odd. I feel I have heard it before.” he mumbles, brows furrowed.

-”Beleth? She’s a mercenary. You might know her better under the name Ashen Demon.”

-”The  _ Ashen Demon _ is your  _ sister _ ?!” were it not for the fact that Felix leaned forward, he might very well have fallen off the chair.

-”Y-yes. Her twin brother and I stayed behind with our father in Remire while she continued as a mercenary.” Dimitri confirms, slightly startled, “I assume you know of her?”

-”Of course I do, any warrior worth his sword knows of her. I’ve been looking for her for quite some time now. If the rumors are true, then she might very well be the best swordswoman there is in Fódlan.” Felix, while stoic in demeanor, is genuinely  _ sparkling _ at the chance and even mention of Beleth. Of course Dimitri knew of Beleth’s reputation with a sword, that many revered her as an unbeatable warrior and feared her presence-- well, he can’t say for certain that she’d be happy with this kind of attention either, but it’s surely superior to plain fear. Felix does make him promise a sparring session once he’s healed, going on about how a brother to the Ashen Demon will make an interesting opponent.

Ashe soon interrupts to question Dimitri on what he recalls of his kidnapping-- was it someone he recognized? Did they ever speak his name, proving they knew who he was? Did they talk about a ransom, trade, or deal to sell him off? Was it all just a mistake, a random abduction, or deliberate? Could they be aware of where Dimitri stayed, aiming to lure Sylvain out? Dimitri does wonder who they were, the few glimpses he got made foreigners a plausible answer, as they wore garments that bore no resemblance to anything seen in Fódlan. Of course he couldn't call himself a fashion expert, but knew enough about clothing from both Mercedes and Jeritza to tell they wore something very unusual. Dimitri couldn’t be certain if it was the lack of light in the dungeons or not, but their skin did seem rather gray in tone. Apart from the language barrier it did not seem likely they intended to sell him further, dealing too much damage for slavery to be the case. If they knew Sylvain, or that Dimitri indeed stayed at the castle for the time being, remained unknown, again due to the language barrier. If they were out for him specifically, or simply targeted him because he was alone, he did not know. It all went so fast-- from being grabbed at the market to be chained in the cell took only a breath, the battle for freedom jumping places in the blink of an eye. Market, woods, house, dungeon--- every change of location punching the air from his lungs.

-”They warped you around?” Felix asks, Ashe looking equally worried. “That is unusual. I’ve never heard of such tactics.”

Transportation, or Warp spells can only reach so far, so it could be that the hideout was simply too far away for one to be enough. However, Warp is an incredibly limited spell, and needs time to recharge after being cast. This only means they have multiple mages capable of warping in their ranks, ruling out common bandits and thieves. Judging from what Dimitri could explain of the spells and weapons they used against him also spoke of dark magic, perhaps of a kind that has yet to see the light of day.

However, as this interrogation bore little fruit, resulting in far more questions than answers, Ashe sets out to tend to the stables to allow Dimitri a chance to rest and regain his thoughts.

-”May I ask one thing, Felix?” Dimitri asks once the two remained alone in the room.

-”I don’t see a reason not to.”’

-”How... familiar are you with Sylvain?”

-”I’ve known him since I was a child.” Felix begins, smile subtle, “My brother used to bring me along whenever he visited. The two were friends, and by extension, so were I. Sylvain was always so caring, it made me feel like I had two brothers to rely on.” Felix sighs, gaze growing awfully tired.

-”When I was around seven, he disappeared, along with everyone in Gautier. I mourned him, along with Glenn. For nearly a decade I thought he was dead, then we heard rumors that he might have survived. I became, as my brother said,  _ hellbent _ on finding him.” Felix very much did what he swore to, even going as far as ignoring his future duties to both his father and the Kingdom in favor of finding Sylvain, to clear up what happened.

Later, when Felix decided to leave home, his search grew wider, across the Kingdom’s frozen peaks, through Sreng’s deep woods, into Almyra’s mountains, across the rocky shores of the Alliance, and lastly into the vast lands of the Empire. When rumors began to circulate of a certain heartbreak of a mage by the name  _ Gautier _ , Felix made his way to the castle without a hint of hesitation.

-”When I  _ finally _ found him again--- he didn’t know who I was. Didn’t remember me or my brother at all.” he grits his teeth, anger and grief mixing into one, “When we spoke, I felt as though his past were completely sealed away. I don’t know what happened to him or his family, but I have every intention to make sure he doesn’t meet the same fate.” Felix nods at nothing, determination strong enough to resound within Dimitri’s own heart.

-”How did he react? When you told him you were friends?”

-”He seemed... relieved. I’d say. Despite not being able to remember my name he did say I looked familiar. I figured that if he didn’t remember me or my brother then it wouldn’t be farfetched to imagine he didn’t remember anyone. Glenn was one of his few friends after all.” Felix sighs, anger returning to his gaze, “Had I known what he endured at the hands of his own brother I would have killed the man myself.”

-”May I ask what happened between them?” Dimitri wonders if he  _ should _ ask, but does so anyway, a chill making home in his gut.

Miklan-- Sylvain’s older brother by nearly a decade, severely abused Sylvain during his childhood, nearly killing him numerous times. Miklan once pushed Sylvain down a well and left him there to die, and he would’ve died there too if a hunter hadn’t passed by. All this hate and suffering for something as insignificant as the powerful, and thus valued, blood flowing in his veins. Much like Glenn, Miklan was denied his right as heir due to his younger brother bearing the powerful blood of Gautier, something their father valued above all else in an heir, as one must bear their blood to wield the famed Lance of Ruin. The Gautier line has since a time forgotten fought the Srengi to protect the border to Fareghus, an heir with their blood therefore a must to ensure they cannot lose. Sylvain was the unfortunate one to be born into such a disgusting fate, fated to go down in history as yet another nameless Margrave heeding the selfish orders of long dead ancestors.

-”I can only assume he blamed Sylvain for taking his birthright from him.” he groans, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “I don’t know the specifics though I am sure the Margrave, if not Miklan by himself, prevented Sylvain from having any friends. The only reason Glenn and I know of him is because our territories lie next to each other. Our friendship was simply a way to ensure the borders stayed where they wanted it. Our father was also a former classmate of the past Margrave, why he decided to keep in touch is beyond me. I was too young back then, but I have heard my share of tales from many others of how vile of a man he was while he still lived. Had I known how they treated Sylvain I would have taken them all down myself.” if Felix weren’t spitting fire before he certainly was now.

It only takes a moment for Felix to apologize, the helplessness from his youth still burning within the very fiber of his being, the same hopelessness nagging at him now, wholly unable to save Sylvain from whatever it was that took him, stealing both years and memories from them both. Dimitri feels a kinship with Felix, sharing his hopelessness, both caring deeply for Sylvain, yet unable to help.

Even so, knowing he and Sylvain have more in common than meets the eye-- a past sealed away, memories torn out the books of their lives-- brings an odd kind of comfort. Perhaps it was trauma that locked Sylvain’s past away, but Dimitri found solace in knowing he was cared for, deeply cared for, by his friends, surpassing death itself, regardless if he remembered their time together or not. Perhaps he was worthy of the same, would the ghosts calling his name ever turn up in the flesh.

Felix may share a past with Sylvain that Dimitri couldn’t compare to, but they still found themselves on the same page, both caring for him deeply, wishing for nothing but his safety. To sit here, unable to help or ease his pain-- tore at their souls.

Normally, Felix wouldn’t humor so many questions-- for neither was he one to talk much, struggling to keep eye contact for long, but regardless of so he answered Dimitri’s questions and wonders about his past and travels around Fódlan and the lands beyond with barely contained joy-- for who can judge a soul eager to be heard, to be listened to?

Days goes past, just like that.

Felix stays at the castle, spending his time training in the backyard and accompanying Ashe on his rounds to the markets. Ashe continues with all his daily chores, tending to the horses, to Sylvain, making sure everyone is full and healthy. Dimitri rests, and heals for all that he is worth, awaiting the day the mage’s door unlocks once more.

Though restlessness grows in three, as days and days go by.

Two full weeks passed without word nor appearance from Sylvain.

On the morning of the fifteenth day, Felix has enough.

-”What’s the worst thing that could happen?” he argues, Ashe dragged along up the stairs with his strong strides, Dimitri following a couple of steps behind.

-”It’s a breach of trust! What could be worse!” Ashe struggles to keep balance, glaring holes at Felix’s back as he drags both of them up.

-”He could be dead in there for all we know.” Felix stops to return his glare, continuing upwards only a moment later.

-”He’s been eating, and I’ve heard him in there! Felix, don’t you dare barge in!”

-”I won’t barge in.” he scoffs, knocking on the door several times, waiting for a reply. When none comes, the next step is simply to try the door, see if he allows them in.

-”Sylvain! Enough of your moping, I’m coming in!” Felix declares before pushing the door open, revealing nothing but darkness at first, heavy curtains closed, room in disarray. Tray with breakfast sits untouched, moved away by the door.

-”Sylvain? Are you in here?” Ashe asks, timidly, entering the room as well. Felix pulls the curtains aside, revealing even more of the mess left behind. Sylvain is nowhere to be found.

The two run out-- or more like Ashe chasing after Felix storming down the stairs. Dimitri steps into the room, heart sinking, terrified of what they must’ve missed. Books lay scattered across the floor, remains of burnt-down candles littering the edges, spilling over the holders. The small bathroom remains empty, remains of what must be blood littering the edges of the sink. Pillows, blankets, even the mattress are torn, small cuts all over the fabric.

As Dimitri turns to leave, something glints in the sunlight-- a dark, sharp little thing, wedged into the wooden floor. A scale of sorts it seems, Dimitri realizes upon picking it up, absentmindedly pocketing the scale as Felix’s furious voice is heard downstairs.

The door is slammed shut by the time Dimitri makes it down, Ashe holding both hands to his temples and groaning as he walks away, past Dimitri and back to his own room by the looks of it. Ingrid sighs, flames swaying with her.

-”Sylvain left late last night.” she looks to Dimitri, “He hasn’t returned yet. I wouldn’t call it normal, but this is what he does to escape himself.”

-”What does that mean?” he questions, her answers bringing more confusion than clarity.

-”I wish I knew. There are things even I do not know about him.” she sighs again, eyeing the door, “But my heart hurts all the same.” both their gazes lands on the heavy door, hearts heavy in their souls.

Gazing at the door will do nothing good, Dimitri knows yet fights to tear his gaze away nonetheless, the restlessness hitting his ribs like war drums, shaking his every breath, sending tremors along his legs-- yet he comes to a halt, catching a glance of himself in the corridor mirror.

Fur and hair once blond now far too golden, far too much so to be human, and if lone eye did not betray-- it shone in the sunlight. Thick and lustrous, ears rounder than before--- a hint of whiskers growing across the pale skin of his nearly completely furred face.

‘ _ The curse... I... _ ’ Dimitri breathes hastily, swallowing the thoughts going haywire, refusing to let them grow. It became a habit to not look too hard, this the very reason so. Tail anxiously swings by his feet, thicker than before, same golden fur ebbing almost all the way down, until a much darker shade of brown took over the rest. Dust flew up around his feet where the tip of his tail swished by.

Fighting the lump growing thick in his throat the best he could, Dimitri continues on his way back to his borrowed room, finding a whole stack of newly washed clothes atop the cabinet-- along Jeralt’s old clothing. He picks it up without much thought, the scent of the ironwork long gone, yet the memory etched into the fabric remained. It brings comfort greater than any words could convey. However, the day is still young, and there is no time to reminisce, not when there is work to do. With the beast-stone back around his neck, our little lion makes his way back to the entry hall with newfound determination.

Dimitri looks out over the entry hall, books and trinkets knocked over since the castle moved, covered in dust that fell from it’s many confinement within the spiderwebs still littering the old ceiling. Frowning at the sight while biting down the restlessness, which only bit him back, he springs into action, grabbing the few cleaning utensils he could find in kitchen storage and swiftly begun to sweep the place, starting with the ceiling.

Ingrid makes no comment as he easily lifts both full bookshelves and overflowing tables without breaking a sweat, moving it all to the centre of the room to clear off the floor near the walls to properly clean up the mess that had grown with the years. A few more scales, most worn and listless, while others still have a luster to them, are found throughout the room. Dimitri wonders where they come from, the one he found in Sylvain’s room now left on his own, hidden in one of the drawers with his sheath. Deciding not to think too hard on it, Dimitri soon focuses back on cleaning. Curtains, aged, and some even moldy, are swiftly taken down and tossed into a basket next to the front door. Daylight pours in, illuminating the cracks along the floors, the washed-out wallpapers, dark silhouettes where furniture once stood. Dimitri then pours soapy water over the floor, not too much nor little, scrubbing away years of dirt and grime.

Turns out the dark floors were not originally so dark, the wood beneath an earthly, warm shade of brown. Dimitri huffs with a smile, thinking of many similarities that could be made between the castle and the famed mage, before once again focusing back at the task at hand.

Ingrid, presumably tired of watching the floor dry, offers her advice on where things could be to make the room more welcoming. Bookshelves are moved to the main wall, the until now unused sofa comfortably placed between them, the painting of a lush forest hanging wonderfully in the middle. One of the larger cabinets is pushed to the windowless part of the wall to the right side of the door, covered in bottles used as makeship vases for the flowers that could still be salvaged from the table. Dimitri didn’t want to toss the dried and dead ones away, didn’t have the heart to, so he walks back to the storage and soon returns with both rope, nails, and hammer, nailing the many bouquets to the wall. A timeless garden, if you will. Mercedes would love it, Annette too.

The table, scrubbed clean off grime and dead bugs, now stands by one of the larger windows closer to Ingrid’s stoneform, both sun and moonlight able to shine through. Chairs, mostly unused, now fully dusted off, are returned to their place around the oak table.

He couldn’t do much about the wallpaper, apart from strategically placing furniture and such to hide the more damaged parts, and couldn’t help to find the imperfections rather charming. Perhaps it spoke to him in words unknown, that even a castle as magical as this, proudly could carry it’s flaws. Dimitri doesn’t humor the thought all too much, absentmindedly heeding Ingrid’s words when she suggests him to place the books by author. A large collection grows on the two top shelves, all written by someone under the pen-name “Bernie's Fables”, adorned with an adorable brand of a bear at the very bottom.

Ingrid sits with the patience of a saint on a small bundle of wood while Dimitri hurriedly scoops away the heavy chunks of ash in her place, putting down some fresh wood for her, before moving to scrub off the rest of the stoneform, careful not to put too much pressure on the withered stones. To call it sparkling clean might be an overstatement, yet the sun reflected quite nicely on the white tiles, if he was allowed to think so highly of his work.

Pleased enough with the groundwork, Dimitri ponders on whether he should wash the curtains or ask Ashe if they had any spares, or maybe skip them altogether. Lone eye soon wanders to the window, the endless hills of snow almost blinding, abruptly ended by the dark mountains in the distance. They glare at him, at his hopelessness. Dimitri scoffs.

-”Wow.” Ashe’s voice chimes in, gaze wandering the room as he comes to stand in the middle. “Thought I heard something going on. I didn’t know we had so much space in here.” he laughs under his tired breath. Dimitri only  _ now _ realizes he maybe should’ve asked before going ahead and cleaning up someone’s  _ house _ .

-”I’m so sorry I-- I don’t know what came over me.”

-”I don’t mind and I’m sure Sylvain won’t either.” he chuckles, still looking out over the room, admiringly, “You did a wonderful job patching this place together.”

  
‘ _ If only, _ ’ a lonely part of his mind sighs, ‘ _ If only I could patch Sylvain together, too. _ ’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (in relation to prev chap) I’M A DUMBASS AND FORGOT SHAMIR AND CATH ALREADY HAD A MINOR APPEARANCE ADALKJBS just imagine them eloping ok? ok / also updated prev chap with a few things I missed!


	12. The Ghost (of a memory)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Call my name, oh heartless specter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled a lot with the transition in this chapter, gave up, bon appetit / on a more serious note, sorry for the long wait, I genuinely didn't know how to write this chapter the way I envisioned, so I may return to edit this later, but for now, I hope you enjoy it! Thank you all for reading and for leaving kudos and comments, it makes my day!

Ashe returned to the kitchen, promising a hearty lunch as thanks for his hard work. Despite having cleaned the entire living room without any breaks, Dimitri soon enough found himself restless once more. The snow outside shimmers with the setting sun, the lovely pink painted across the sleepy blue, reflected in the endless white.

Feeling an urgent need for fresh air, Dimitri dons one of the heavy fur jackets by the door and steps out into the biting cold of a late Gautier summer. Regardless of season, these lands remain engulfed by endless winter, forever frozen to its core. Some say it’s the remains of a curse that befell not only Gautier but the whole Kingdom many, many centuries ago. Dimitri couldn’t say for certain how the weather out here in Faerghus was like, but liked to imagine it wasn’t all cold and dreadful.

Dark trees and mountains mock the remains of his nightmare, still lingering on the edge of his vision come night. The only thing stronger than the pull of his nightmares in this moment was the urge to-- well, simply lie down in the snow for a bit. Without further ado and to silence the voices in his head demanding attention and sacrifice-- Dimitri falls down in the soft snow face first. Definitely not the best way to go about it, still  _ worth it. _ The snow is heavenly soothing on his overheated skin, melting one moment only to freeze over in the next as these lands are so much colder than body heat alone could defeat.

Dimitri soon rises to snow being crunched in the distance, a muffled tapping noise rapidly advancing. Though his stance softens as the scarecrow from moons back, the very same one that led him to this castle-- to Sylvain, comes into view.

-”Mr Scarecrow!” Dimitri greets, waving as it comes to tap-dance around him. “Did you follow us here?” he asks but it sways a no in reply. It does, however, jump awkwardly in the snow for a bit, almost toppling over. Dimitri looks at the scarecrow, then at the snow, a few letters spelled out.

-”C-L-A-U-D-E? Claude? Is that your name?” he looks up to meet it’s gaze-- err, face? The scarecrow jumps with glee, clothes flowing as it spins around.

-”Well then Claude, I am very glad to see you again.” Dimitri smiles, and he’s sure Claude is doing the same, in his own scarecrow kind of way. “Been leading any other folks astray since we last met?” he asks, Claude swaying a no in reply.

-”A sentient scarecrow... tell me, are you the result of a spell, or perhaps a curse as well?” the scarecrow jumps in space, presumably a yes to at least one of his assumptions. “Where are you from, if you don’t mind sharing?” he asks, Claude jumping in the snow.

-”...” Dimitri reads the sentence once more just to be sure, “Fear the deer?” upon saying it aloud, the scarecrow jumps around only to fall down in, presumably, laughter.

-”You truly are pulling my leg now huh.” Dimitri can’t help but to laugh, the worry of these past two weeks that’s been tearing at his heart-- finally letting go. 

Sylvain might not be with them right now, and while his absence hurt even more now that he was gone with the wind, it simultaneously gave a certain comfort in knowing he was well enough to leave on his own. This castle is his home--- surely, he will return, and Dimitri will be right here when he does.

Cladue dances around him some more before bowing, Dimitri doing the same out of some misplaced habit, a haunting call of a past he can’t recall. Even so, off he goes, tapping away into the unknown. Dimitri watches until his form is completely gone in the endless snow, wondering where he could be going, the lands around here barren save for the ruins of past homes. Though as the weather brings a wind so harsh it sends him into a full-body shiver, even with the heavy jacket and his own fur, Dimitri deems his time out in the snow enough for now and heads back inside.

-”You look cold.” Ingrid states, as a matter of fact, the moment he comes back inside, snow still clinging to his clothes.

-”To say otherwise would be a lie.” Dimitri chuckles as he returns the jacket to the hanger, kicking off the boots and brushing off as much snow as he could by the door before settling down on the chair in front of the fire. Warmth travels through skin into his marrow, warming the very core of his being as he rests by her side.

He stays there for a while, nearly nodding off in the comfort of her presence, mind aimlessly wandering about, across the plains and hills he passed alone, until it lands on fond memories of his time in Remire. Nearly two moons have passed now. Sir Jeralt and Blyeth must be worried-- along all his friends too, not one word since his disappearance but a letter he still couldn’t be sure ever arrived.

Thankfully his thoughts never managed to wander far, Ashe calling out from the kitchen, the promise of warm food made him and Ingrid both hurry on their way.

Ashe just laughs as Ingrid nearly erupts from the stove, fire spilling over the metal and stone before settling back in her place, her plate neatly placed in their usual place. Dimitri is not far behind, but hoped his appearance was not as wild as hers, straightening his posture before fully entering the room. Ashe said something about cheese and stew, the rest of his sentence lost to the wondrous aroma of the dish itself. Dimitri does hear Ashe laugh again as he plops down on his chair, seeing Dimitri equally focused on the food as Ingrid was.

The three eat in silence for a good while, both of them taking seconds before Ingrid rightfully took the remaining scraps.

Something scratches against the windows, and Dimitri hears Ashe chuckle while he turns his gaze towards the windows, a black cat sitting on the ledge, demanding to be let in. Ashe hurries over to open the little window, the cat purring into his hand before jumping down onto the counter and swiftly down to the floor, heading straight for the staircase.

-”That was Lix.” Ashe just smiles before getting back to his seat.

-”I wasn’t aware you kept a cat.”

-”We don’t, actually. He comes and goes on his own.” there is a mischievous smile on his face that Dimitri wasn’t sure how to decipher, but decided not to ask in order to focus back on his food. He could  _ almost _ taste it, this time.

Ingrid soon leaves with a satisfied hum, returning to her place in the living room. Even so, the kitchen remains warm, full of history Dimitri could sense but remained cut off from. Along it rings the question of why he was still here.

-”Ashe, may I ask you something?” Dimitri starts, already feeling he’s about to stir up more than just dust today. Ashe nods regardless with a mouthful of food.

-”What did you mean when you called me a  _ guest _ when I first came here?” he asks, recalling the day, the heavy tonnation on the word. Ashe shuts his eyes with a grimace, swallowing hard.

-”I’m so sorry, Dima. That is not my place to say.”

-”... can you at least tell me if I am still a  _ guest _ , even now? If not, then why am I still allowed to stay?” Dimitri presses on-- for as far as finding a solution for his curse, they’ve come a long standstill-- surely that would be enough reason so send him away.

-”I-- I’ll have to ask Sylvain when he returns. But for me... I think of you as a friend. I know it’s only been a little past two moons now--”

-”You don’t have to justify seeing me as a friend. Both you and Sylvain are dear to me.” Dimitri assures, Ashe remains silent in his seat.

-”... I must admit something.” Ashe struggles to find words, unsure how to continue, “A few years back, Sylvain advised me to not get too close to any guests we receive... because they won’t remember us for long.” Ashe straightens out to meet his eye.

-”We tamper with their memories, Dima. That is why people don’t find this place so easily. I probably shouldn’t be telling you any of this--- but you know about the rumors, right? About Sylvain eating hearts?” he asks and Dimitri freezes in place, remembering the cold touch of his hand.

-”I have heard my share of rumors.” Dimitri confirms, trying to ground himself.

-”That one rumor is true. But it’s not on a whim or to be cruel, I promise you that. Sylvain... takes the love and admiration they have for him as payment for his service. I don’t know if... he’s done anything of the like to you. He only does so at the end of their stay. No one ever returns after that- swearing and spitting curses to never set their foot here again. By the time they’re out of the door, everything they have seen and experienced in here is erased. Sylvain made it so that no outsider can use the doors or find this place.”

-”Will he do the same, when he’s through with me?” Dimitri can’t help but to ask, cold to the core of his being, heart heavy in his throat. He doesn’t want to lose Sylvain, not like this,  _ Goddess _ , not like this.

-”I don’t know, Sylvain has never let anyone stay as long as you have.” Ashe admits, poking around the remains of his food, “I can’t speak for him or claim I know his motives- but the way he looks at you? There has to be a reason why he isn’t giving up on you. I’m sure of it.” he looks up to meet his gaze, and Dimitri prays he’s right.

-”Anyhow... people call that the curse of Gautier. Lose your heart and never know why.” Ashe speaks up again as he rises from his seat, sweeping up the dishes as he goes.

While that surely ended on a disheartening note, Dimitri does his best to not lose his heart, praying Ashe is right, hoping Sylvain will return soon enough--- wishing to hear the truth in his own words. For if Sylvain asked for his love he would give it willingly.

As per usual; Ashe goes about his chores while Ingrid snoozes off in the living room, leaving Dimitri to restlessly pace the hall between his room and the corridor as the hours come to pass. Nearing the edge of insanity, Dimitri eventually settles to rest in the living room as well, blindly taking up one of the many books in the now finely organized bookshelf. In truth, he spares little attention to the text, mind not in the right place to focus on any details, immersing himself in the scent of old ink and paper while carefully flipping through the pages, finding quite a few to be illustrated. Most depicted knights and armies in battle, battling off hordes of a dark and cruel enemy aiming to crush everything in their way. Ignoring the lump that grew in his chest, en echo of bloodlust he refused to acknowledge rising like bile, Dimitri continued forward towards the ending. Soon, the illustrations grew softer, showing the aftermath of victory and celebration, the two leads of the story linking arms, sealing each other’s lips in a final true love’s kiss.

Dimitri closes the book, blood rising to his cheeks, and was this once thankful for his fur. It had grown long enough to braid, and he considered the hassle for a brief moment before his thoughts managed to wander off on their own, imagining Sylvain’s warm hands running through his hair, fingers combing it through with all the care in the world.

Gently squishing the book against his face, Dimitri bites down the fluster breaking out like butterflies throughout his chest, rattling against his ribs. Then, the silent realization, the breathless  _ oh _ that clicks everything into place. From first sight until now. Dimitri stills his hand, book still covering his face now forming a stupid grin, blush high on his cheeks.

Truthfully, he knows he is not the first, and doubts he’ll have the privilege to be the last, to have such feelings for the mage, but even so it grows warm, from the very core of his heart and being to the beyond edges of his soul.

Time passes in a blink, Dimitri’s brief moment of closing his eye becomes an unintentional hour long nap, only woken up by Ashe stopping by to announce dinner was now ready. Dimitri didn’t catch what he said on the way to the kitchen, his mind still somewhere else, longing for a touch he could not call his.

Dinner passes in a similar fashion, pleasant conversation slowly ebbing into silence as night drew near, black skies dotted with lonely stars, moon still hiding beneath a thick layer of clouds in the distance, as if sleeping as well. With time, Ingrid returns to her place once again, while Ashes yields to the late hour to get some sleep before a new dawn could rise. Dimitri, still awake from his nap yet weary in a way he couldn’t describe, heads back to the sofa, holding onto the hope of catching Sylvain return tonight.

-”Ingrid, may I ask you something?” Dimitri begins, watching her green eyes reappear in the fire. “How come you know Sylvain? Did you live with his family too?”

-”No, at least I don’t believe so... It’s so strange, I don’t actually know how we came to be. All I know is that I have been at Sylvains side since he was very young, just a child.” her flames sigh, “I have seen his self-destructive behaviour grow in many forms-- isolation, starvation-- his reputation as a shallow womanizer only a part of that. Though I can assure he has fallen into many beds with a man on his arm.”

-”Surely you must remember something? Were you a fire back then, human, something else entirely?” Dimitri tries to steer back to the subject at hand, not too keen on prying on Sylvain’s past sexual encounters.

-”That is precisely our issue. Neither I nor Sylvain have any recollection of how we met. Even so... sometimes, I have these faint images flashing by, as if I saw him from above.” Ingrid begins, starting from what they grew to call  _ the beginning _ of the moving castle of Gautier.

Long, long ago, back when Ingrid’s and Sylvain’s powers first met and the castle rose from its ancient foundation, on the night their journey first started, their beginning. They wandered the frozen peaks of Gautier's territory, along the very edge of Fearghus not to catch attention-- that much she remembers. Sylvain was dead in the eyes of the world, and he wished to keep it so. So they continued to wander, far away from Fearghus. As they crossed into Alliance territory, Sylvain's own, free self, began to emerge. Trinkets, brooks, new knowledge, experiences, it was all his own now. When they did nothing but wander, he’d read into the dead of night, often falling asleep where he sat by the fire. He studied for nothing but himself, learning the language of Almyra and Bridgid, and while he has yet to visit the latter, it all came in handy upon resting on the Almyran borders, meeting kind farmers, outspoken travelers, and courageous warriors. 

As years passed and the ring of his name fell deaf across the countries, Sylvain once more stepped out into the world, as himself this time. Not  _ Gautier _ , but  _ Sylvain _ . It was then the world opened for a second time, as their travels brought them across the hearts of many lands.

Even so, the shadow of his name eventually caught up, the brand embedded on his chest and the castle decor were more often than not recognized, and more often than not for the myth of their riches. At that time, another eight or nine years had passed since they first left Gautier's frozen wasteland, but it was in that very moment Sylvain’s heart froze as cold as the ice he died to leave behind. He did not seek out people to be kind, for they did not meet him in kind. Breaking hopes and hearts, stealing whatever love or admiration they had for him, fueling himself on their selfishness. Step for step, slowly taking up his father’s cruel mantle, leaving all his conquests just as heartless.

Ingrid could feel it all, as though his heart was her own, and how it grew cold.

Like many things, only time and warmth can thaw something so deeply frozen, and luckily that came in the form of Dorothea and Petra, the humans, as they met by chance at an opera for a new act. The two were attending as part of their engagement, and for one reason or another, that intrigued Sylvain enough to get to know them, and they soon became fast friends. Despite the two traveling between Adrestia and Bridgid, they kept in touch with letters, meeting as often as chance allowed, Sylvain rarely in the right location. He still keeps their letters and gifts in his bedchamber, the painting of a lush forest hanging in this room a gift from them both.

His future brightened, yet his heart only grew colder.

-”Sylvain... when we met, I’m sure it was then,” Ingrid begins, memory clear just this once, “He asked to exchange his youth, the essence of his life, for power to break his curse.”

-”Curse?” Dimitri looks at her, her entire being merely a small flame, fiery green gaze watching him. It is then, that he wonders if Sylvain was cursed along with his long deceased family. Was he the sole survivor because he  _ fought _ for it?  _ Killed _ for it?

-”Yes.” she takes a deep breath, and Dimitri wonders if she does breathe, “His entire family was cursed to become monsters and kill anyone who stood in their way. They fought each other to the death, and in the end, Sylvain was all that remained.”

-”Who did this to him? What happened?” the curse was all too familiar to be a coincidence-- it has to be the same witch. The very same witch that cursed Dimitri as well.

-”I don’t know--” her voice and being grows anxious, bursting at the edges, “After all this time, I am not sure if this memory is mine. Sylvain and I... our powers... some days, I’m not certain where I end and he begins...” she mutters.

-”I remember seeing him, leaving a trail of blood in the snow behind, then I...” the fire flicks, wood cracking irritably, “I don’t know. I don’t remember.” she huffs, ash and ember flying.

-”Some days I wonder if it was an effect of the curse and our powers mixing that sealed our memories away.” if that was truly the case, then Ingrid held nothing but regret for her actions, no matter how well intended they were at the time.

-”Was it your powers he gained when he exchanged his youth?” Dimitri asks, feeling as though they were coming closer to unearthing a secret, solving something important-- was his youth the only thing Sylvain lost that day?

-”It must be. I couldn’t explain our situation otherwise. Sylvain and I are bound to each other, much like I am bound to this castle.”

-”You can’t leave this place?”

-”Does it look like I have legs?” she scoffs, playful tone ringing clear. “For as much as I lack a body able to travel, my very being is bound to this place. That much has been confirmed, through many trials. I don’t mind, Sylvain let’s me see much through his own eyes when he’s away. And he brings back delicious food for me too!”

-”As long as you’re happy, I won’t complain. Though surely there must be a way to bring back our memories... seems the three of us have that in common.” Dimitri can’t help but to chuckle at the realization, jokingly wondering if they were somehow connected, a forgotten string of fate binding them together.

-”A trio of amnesiacs... hardly the most memorable title, but I’ll bear it.”

-”Was that a joke just now?” Dimtri doesn’t hold back his laughter, unprepared for the pun.

-”Never.” she laughs too.

Hours went them by, in comfortable silence and welcomed ramblings of days gone by, the two talking every so often in between reading as night grew dark outside the warm walls. Dimitri does eventually, and involuntarily, fall into the temptation of closing his eye, gently lulled to sleep by Ingrid’s warmth, heart swirling of her tales of Sylvain’s younger days.

Many hours into the dark night on these barren lands, the heavy door creaks open without a sound, closing and locking behind him just as silently. Sylvain walks to his chair and sits down, face in calloused, aged hands with a deep sigh. Only then, does he take notice of how clean the stoneform is, turning around to see the room looking nothing alike the mess he left it.

-”Dima cleaned today.” Ingrid answers, small arms reaching for his hands, warming the freezing soul within, “He’s over there.” they both look at him, fast asleep on the sofa, determined to stay awake until Sylvain returned, safe and sound. Sylvain lets out a silent, relieved sigh, carefully making his way there, watching Dima sleep peacefully. The curse has regressed, and he’s met with a face he’s been chasing his whole life, a distant promise ringing so prominent. His familiar scars and blonde hair, softly illuminated by the fire, made nearly human once more beneath the blessed blue light of the full moon. Overtaken by the ghost of himself, Sylvain caresses his cheek with utmost care, evers so gently moving to play with his hair, messy from sleep.

A burn far worse than fire runs through, Sylvain immediately taking his hand back, holding it over the damned brand on his chest, the heartless echo behind it.

Ingrid looks at him pulling his jacket off and gently laying it atop Dima, before standing quiet at the sight, and she  _ feels _ it, how his heart hammers against his empty chest with painful longing. Then it slows, warm and steady.

>>You love him.>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid: *looks into the camera*


	13. The Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A call from both the past and present. Which will you answer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: HELLO I’M A DUMBASS AND UPLOADED A DRAFT INSTEAD OF THE ACTUAL CHAPTER sorry for the reupload!!

_Sleep well, my little lion._ \- a voice sighs, gently fading into nothingness.

Sunlight shimmers through painted glass, colorful images dancing across old marbled floors. Dimitri’s gaze wanders on without him, aimlessly taking his body along, moving past two large columns decorated with lions, eagles, and deers. Moving forward soon brings him into a large garden, a path of white stone paved in the middle, bushes and all kinds of colorful flowers planted along the edges. Maids and servants around him rush about, their chatter turned into incomprehensible nonsense. Guards, he presumed, walked by in shining armor, almost sparkling in the strong light-- it felt extravagant, not meant for battle but rather to honor something larger. The emblem embedded caught his eye- two sharp lines, each with additional sharp edges sticking out. In the middle was another, less curved, each protruded with two bladelike edges sticking through closer to the middle. They move past him fast, decorative swords, shields, and lances in hand. Their mumbling turns clear, just for a breath of a moment-- a celebration for the heirs of this kingdom is about to take place.

Everyone hurries away, Dimitri hurrying along with the flow, soon finding himself with the maids and servants lined up behind a wall of guards. Whether people ignored him or simply did not mind his presence never cleared, each face he turned to were all blurred messes. Trumpets, blasting a tone that resonated with something deep within him-- bursted out loud and clear.

From behind a large metal gate came four people, each face just as blurred as the others. A tall man, with blonde hair slicked back and furred robe reaching the ground. Next to him walked a somewhat shorter woman, dressed just as finely with a matching robe, though clearly less heavy. Both wore crowns, the same emblem decorated with blue jewels against the fine silver. Behind them walked, Dimitri assumed, their children. A young man, blonde like his father, posture just as regal, clad in a black uniform adorned with silver details along a blue cape. Then, lastly, a young woman, dressed in a similar uniform with a red cape instead, hair of a soft brown color, purple ribbons swaying as she walked.

A sense of tranquility, along with what felt like his heart settling into his chest, overwhelmed him, Dimitri closed his eye to regain some resemblance of sense of himself.

What greets him next might very well have been the very gates of hell.

In the blink of an eye, the harmonic scene shatters into a field of fire and chaos, guards and servants alike slain by grotesque magic appearing from hideous shadows lurking all around, the grace of sunlight completely obscured beneath an impossibly thick fog. Panicked screams rings through his head, weapons clattering in defeat as more succumbs to these dark forces. Few remains, the courage of those who still stand shining bright-- a young man losing his arm protecting the king.

Dimitri turns, staggering backwards with lungs full of smoke too heavy to bear-- finding the young woman from before held back by familiar foes, dagged dyes just as red as the cape she wore. Then, the witch-- the same witch who cursed him into a beast stepps into his blurring vision, pale hair stained crimson, blood streaming out of her right eye and wound on her shoulder, seeping into the black feathers clinging to her arm, hissing with pain as she steps forward, the same darkness that once ensnared him bursting through, tearing his being to shreds as he falls--

\--onto the floor.

The feeling of falling hits him much harder than the landing itself, all breath punched out of his lungs along with his being, struggling to regain both vision and control of himself as he fumbles around in the dark.

Ingrid rests in her place, fire low and quiet. The wooden floor remains firm and steady beneath him, no fire, death, or faceless corpses lurking around the corner. Dimitri manages to sit himself up, resting against the sofa, trying to regain his thoughts. Another nightmare. _Just_ a nightmare, he tells himself, breathing deeply. Even so, that girl... no. Dimitri shakes off the thought for now, mind not in the right place to relive the contents of his night.

It must be early, the faintest hint of sunlight peeking up from behind the dark mountains in the far distance. With no desire to sleep further, afraid of returning to that dream, Dimitri simply remains on the floor, resting his back against the plush sofa, when something falls down along a pillow.

A jacket, and if his tired mind does not betray him, it’s _Sylvain’s_. The auburn shade and slightly worn sleeves, a faint scent of firewood and tea etched into it, dissolving any dark remains from his dreams. His tired legs still carry him, quickly and steady up from the floor, taking strides towards the staircase as heart swells with hope of seeing him.

-”Dima?” a voice calls, stopping him in his tracks, “Woah, you’re up early today. Or have you not slept yet?” concern drops into Ashe’s tired voice where he sits, absentmindedly petting Lix while sorting through mail over breakfast.

-”I, uh, had a bad dream. No need to worry about me.”

-”Pardon my words, but you do look a little wrecked.” Ashe speaks without malice and Dimitri couldn’t argue-- reminding him of Byleth, who always could tell a good night from a bad one just from how he appeared in the morning. He gestures to the table, with enough food for both of them, the silent invitation heartwarming in it’s own might. Sylvain might not be home still, even if he did return some time after his unintentional slumber, so there is no need to rush, even if his heart demands him to go. To be with Sylvain for every precious moment they might have.

-”Want to see something fun?” Ashe says after a while, glancing to the teapot just about to be ready on the stove-- the immediate moment it began to shriek, fire bursts out next to it, Ingrid’s green eyes wide open, gleaming with- hunger?

-”It’s our little morning routine.” Ashe just chuckles while Ingrid digs in on her breakfast. While being a fire spirit of some sort, she certainly has a taste for good food, and Ashe couldn’t complain about having some morning company. While it might not be required every day, Ashe still struggles to sleep in for too long-- a remnant of his past from the days and nights when he could not rest peacefully- a scar and habit that could not be easily shaken. Most of his nights might be dreamless, but oh so lonely. Even so, with the baggage of his past, Ashe still cherished this second chance for life that he was given, and he will protect the man who gave it to him.

Even if that meant going somewhere he’d rather not set his foot again.

Watching Ashe pull quite the impressive grimace at the letter in his hand, Dimitri asks what it reads. Apparently, it’s a call for aid from the Church of Serios. War has been declared. And they are now asking, _demanding_ , the aid of the numerous elite warriors and mages scattered across the Alliance and the Kingdom. The new ruler of Adrestia, only known as the Flame Emperor, has declared war upon the Church for reasons not described in the letter. _Of course not_ , Ashe mutters, eager to just toss the damn thing away. 

Considering what the Church has done to Ashe’s loved one, both his grief and hatred stood justified, though that would not suffice in the eyes of the Archbishop. Dimitri didn’t care much for their reasonings, all his mind jumped to was Remire--- located in Adrestian territory. Sir Jeralt is not able to fight, but Byleth would surely be drafted to war. He has seen him dyed red before but this hurts so much more.

A sudden weight climbing onto his legs brings attention back to here and now.

The black cat has left his spot by Ashe’s side and crossed over into his lap, kneading the sore muscles before settling down, tucking in both tail and paws with a satisfied yawn. A low, barely audible purring vibrates against him, a warm smile grows on his face as Dimitri gently begins to pet the cat, the dark fur soft against calloused skin.

-”That’s odd, Lix usually won't come near strangers...” Ashe muses, sipping his tea while eyeing the cat, who only flicks his ears in response. Dimitri doesn’t mind, even if he’s only used for pets. Lix’s tiny body is adorned with numerous scars and muscle-- they make quite the pair, both a little roughed up, scarred by unkind years, yet alive, still alive. Dimitri may or may not take a little more joy than he should in petting Lix as gently as he could, but there he was, the anxiety from his awakening slowly ebbing out.

Eventually, his claws almost catch onto the ribbon around Lix’s neck, a pang of recognition hits, stealing his breath away--- _Mercedes_. This is one of her handmade ribbons-- Dimitri is most certain of such, for he witnessed this one being brought to life by her very hands during one of the many times she tried teaching him the skill of sewing. The cat shakes off his stilled hand just then, strutting away and up the stairs. Dimitri, franic with the discovery, if it even was one, wonders if they’ve met before. There are many stray cats around Remire, no shortage on black ones either... taking a breath and nodding to himself, Dimitri clears his mind for what feels like an eternity.

Ingrid returns to her place, Ashe eventually getting up and away for his chores, the castle empty and cold without the mage to liven their day up. To liven _his_ day up.

-”Dima.” his familiar voice, as warm as angel hymns, calls his name. Dimitri turns around embarrassingly fast, chair creaking, finally graced by the sight of him, strutting down the stairs with Lix lazingly held in his arms.

-”I didn’t want to wake you last night, but I want you to know that I appreciate you waiting for me. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.” he smiles and bows comically low, Lix escaping his grasp and promptly going back upstairs.

-”I am glad to see you safe.” Dimitri reckons his voice must be wavering, for Sylvain’s eyes shimmer momentaily with guilt, before the teasing glint returns.

-”Aww, you missed me that much? Someone needs a hug?” he chuckles, openings his arms. Truly, Dimitri knows he’s merely teasing, riling him into a spluttering mess to play with-- even so, Dimitri readily accepts the invitation, gently embracing the mage, hoping to piece back all the shards of himself, praying this action would somehow tell him everything Dimitri still dare not say. Sylvain stills for a moment, before his arms slinks around his waist, holding him close as he rests against his shoulder, a silent sigh escaping as they stand there for as long as they both need.

-”Perhaps,” Dimitri begins, a mischievous grin growing on his bitten lips, “Perhaps you were the one who needed a hug, Sylvain.”

-”Hey hey, don’t ruin this for me.” he only laughs, not removing his face from its comfortable spot against his shoulder, “It’s nice to be missed.” his voice lowers, not with embarrassment nor guilt, only relief. In his embrace, the dark slithering remains of his nightmare slips away.

‘ _I shouldn’t intrude.’_ Ashe slinks back into the hallway after witnessing their gentle embrace-- face quickly reddening, as if he walked into a confession. ‘ _The letter can wait._ ’ he decided, promptly- whatever business the Church wanted could wait, if only for a moment longer.

Soon enough, the troubled contents of the Church’s letter is properly addressed, calling for the aid of everyone residing in the castle of Gautier. Despite the grave situation at hand, Sylvain remained unfazed by the news of war, the winds he briefly followed carrying along a wavering anxiety for the future. However, the Church has yet to know Ashe lives here-- and considering he’s still under suspicion of assisting regicide, Sylvain refused to let them know.

So, of course, a plan is made.

-”So this is Garreg Mach...” Dimitri nearly gasps at the sight, stone walls built far higher than he’d ever imagine, the life inside a stark contrast to the everyday commotion on the streets.

-”It’s still school hours, so don’t wander off now.” Sylvain reminds as the two walk away from the garden gate, one of many doors here imprinted with the Key of Gautier. ;uch like he said, the courtyard is filled with students, all clad in black uniforms decorated with either silver or gold details, their moving image sparking a hint of recognition, just out of reach. 

-”They most likely haven’t been informed yet.” Sylvain hums, locking arm with Dimitri as they walk, “The Archbishop is awaiting us in her office above the cathedral. We’ll most likely meet Seteth there somewhere.” he continues as they walk, leading the way as Dimitri allows his gaze to wander, held by Sylvain’s gentle warmth.

They make quick and swift work of moving through the area, quite a few students- and teachers alike, looking on in wonder, whispering among themselves.

-”Sir Gautier.” a voice calls for them to stop, Sylavin hesitating on his step before firmly turning to face the owner of the voice. A man with dark hair, clad in fine adrestian clothing-- clearly a noble, perhaps even royalty, stands before them. Red jewelry, contrasting the pale skin. Eyes of a pale purple, sending a shiver down his spine, to the very tip of his tail.

-”Lord Arundel.” Sylvain greets back just as cold, still wearing his charming smile-- once again not reaching his eyes. “What can I do for you, good Sir?” his tone is unmistakingly venomous, and obviously meant to be such.

-”I assume Lady Rhea has also called you here?” he eyes Dimitri for a brief moment with a look of disdain before locking eyes with Sylvain.

-”Oh, you know, I’m simply irresistible.” Sylvain makes an exaggerated gesture towards himself, “If you have nothing else on your mind, I better make way to meet her.”

-”I suggest you clean up your act Gautier, you are to fight for the honor of the Goddess and the Church of Serios.”

-”I don’t need to justify my life to you, now do I? Last time I checked, you are an Adrestian. How do you feel, with your motherland calling for war?”

-”Unlike you I have since long served the Kingdom and the Church. A meaningless coup against her grace is hardly worth attention.”

-”Yet here we are, chatting about it. Anything else, or am I free to go?” Sylvain asks but doesn’t bother waiting for an answer, dragging Dimitri with him in one swift movement.

-”Be on your guard, Gautier. There’s only so much your declining bloodline can handle.” Lord Arundel scoffs before continuing on his way.

His hair sways dangerously between fire and ash, dark splinters of scales growing along the hand so gently holding onto him. Dimitri squeezes it, gaining a wink in reply as they hurry, a hushed breath not to worry.

They do reach the cathedral, finally, standing proud and tall, stained windows reflected by the shimmering sunlight. Guards refer them to Seteth, waiting patiently by the gates, briskly allowing them both access, muttering for himself as the two make their way upstairs. More guards await outside the office, only allowing entrance after Sylvain proved his identity along his summon to meet Lady Reah.

At last, there she was, standing before them in a heavy robe of navy blue and white fabric with skillfully crafted golden details, along a crown of equally fine work. Dimitri isn’t quite sure how to act in her presence, him being here clearly unplanned, but she merely smiles, the situation too dire to dwell on the mage’s choice of company.

-”I thank you for your time, Sylvain of Gautier, and I must apologize for the sudden summon. I am afraid we have lost some of our finer knights this year, and need all the help there is.”

-”Not to worry, your Grace.” Sylvain bows and Dimitri does the same, the two soon going deeper into how dire the situation has become, before landing on the subject of who their enemy actually is.

-”Our enemy is mainly of Adrestioan descent, made up of an unpredictable force of mercenaries and disgraceful nobles daring to turn against the Goddess. As of now, they are being led by the Flame Emperor. We have yet to know who they are, but they have managed to rally the Adrestian army un one banner. Our scouts have found one of the generals to be alarmily dangerous, even carrying the Sword of the Creator, a relic stolen from us a few years back.”

-”Oh yes, I remember that. A raid of the Holy tomb, wasn’t it? It was never known to the public.” Sylvain nods, being one of the few outside of the Church with this information.

-”Indeed. Now it appears to have been fallen into enemy hands, and into the hands of a general within the Adrestian army, at that. She has impeccable skills with a sword, many of our troops bested by her alone. If you are willing, I would like for you to assist the Knights of Serios on a mission to retrieve the sword before their forces arrive at the monastery.”

-”I am afraid I must decline, your Grace.” Sylvain speaks up, voice mature and steady. Dimitri and Lady Rhea look on in shock. “House Gautier has since long fallen, and while I can attest to my own abilities with magic and weaponry, I am not fit to lead or fight in an army worthy of your Grace. I have housemates who need my protection.”

-”Sylvain, I hope you understand just how grave your words are.” her voice remains steady, tone colder than Faerghus winter. With the chill of her words rings Sir Jeralts warning, to not trust her. Even do, Dimitri keeps his discomfort to himself.

-”So I do, your Grace. My summon here was informal, and seeing as I cannot provide the help you seek, there’s nothing I can do. I possess no army, nor resources. And, pardon my bluntness, but words has it that the Adrestian army has called war upon the Church, _not_ Fodlán.” and those are not the same, Sylvain is wise enough to keep those last words to himself, watching the Archbishop just barely contain her annoyment.

-”I trust you understand you are making yourself an enemy of the Church. Perhaps the godless hand that once struck you has fully sullied your soul and mind.” she speaks, raising her chin just so slightly to look down upon him.

“Then we will take our leave before your Grace decides such. Farewell, Lady Rhea.” Sylvain bows once more, not allowing her enough time to call them back as he drags them both out of there and swiftly back outside, hands once more prickled with dark crescents of scales.

-”Sylvain-- are you certain this is a good idea?” Dimitri’s heart hammers hard against his chest, worry washing over like a raging sea. Sylvain just looks at him, eyes so gentle, yet a spark of want glinted for a moment. They slow down their hectic pace.

-”I will fight in this war, that is most likely unpreventable, but I will not make myself a scapegoat for the Church. Besides, did you even hear what she said? The Sword of the Creator! In the hands of a swordswoman! I am not facing death with a bouquet of flowers, good sir.” Sylvain makes sure to make a dramatic show of himself, landing a hand on his heart while leaning backwards, “In all seriousness... we may survive this war with minail fighting. It seems the Flame Emperor of whatever their name is has beef with the Church, not a specific country. Which is, you know, kind of fair considering what the Church has done.”

-”Blasphemy.” Dimitri laughs, glad no one was close enough to hear their conversation, “I suppose it is safer not to engage the enemy head on... but what about the people here? The students?” they look out over the lively courtyard, a bell chiming somewhere, sending most rushing to classrooms while others took their sweet time.

-”There will be losses. There most likely has been a few already considering the urgency of-- everything. Hopefully Lady Rhea will see that in time and evacuate this place. I mean, if this really is the Flame Emperor’s goal, I’d leave pretty fast. It all really comes down to what the Flame Emperor actually wants.”

-”Sir Gautier! Sylvain!” another voice calls, and Sylvain stops mid-step before looking back at the owner of the voice, hurrying after them with a scowl to rival even a pissed off Felix.

-”Ah crap it’s Seteth-- wait here, I’ll be back in a hot second.” Sylvain turns to meet the angry right-hand of the Archbishop, most likely calling to deliver a scolding.

Dimitri is about to join them, a sense of dread blooming in his chest in his absence, when a familiar shade of pink disturbs his remaining vision.

-”My my, are you lost?” she speaks, the same witch that cursed him to this fate, coming to a brief standstill by his side.

-”What are you doing here?” he can’t help but glare, watching her slowly make her way around him, dragging out this needless interaction.

-”I am here on behalf of house Blaiddyd, on his Majesty’s honor.” she flicks a lock of hair over her shoulder, part of her fringe falling over the right side of her face. A wicked smile soon follows. ”Do you miss it? Was it hard to adjust to half-sight?”

-” _You_.” voice turns dark to a point where he can no longer recognize it as his own, yet neither does he care, nightmares and fragmented memories banding together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s been so long since I played the game I do not remember how the cathedral looks rip. sorry for the months long absence, been flooded with work and I recently fell ill. Thank you so much for reading and I wish you all a safe and happy holiday!


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